Dragons? Better Send in the Marines
by Keith the Evil Dark Lord
Summary: After dying to save his fellow Marines, Staff Sergeant Sarvis expects just that- to have died. But when he wakes up in a carriage, bound and destined for the chopping block, he's taken by surprise. Not only is he not dead, but he's now in a world with magic, dragons, and its own war brewing, and he's stuck in the middle of it! "Look, I'm not a Dragonborn, my mother was Catholic."
1. Another War in Another World

This is an updated version of the first chapter. Special thanks to Eriennesfall for pointing out all the errors that were in desperate need of fixing! This is a lot better thanks to you! Only the text of the story has been changed, however, so all warnings and notes are the same as before.

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Welcome, my fellow children of Skyrim! I should get straight to the point but first I'm going to list out some important information about this fanfic first.

1\. I do not own Skyrim or any other Elder Scroll Copyright. I am, however, one of their biggest fans and fully intend on keeping all of their facts straight that I can with the only changing (or really an adding) on the Dragonborn's background story.

2\. With that last point being made, I will be adding OC characters but I plan on keeping all of them minor or just use real minor characters from the game like Sven's mother, Hilde, in Riverwood.

3\. My Dragonborn, Sarvis, is my own creation and no one else's. He is based off of several Marines and my father (who was not a Marine but an E7 in the Army). His real life and next life story, however, is, for the most part, fictional.

Lastly, may warning... WARNING: Story is written in first person point of view and will pertain cursing. It has been filtered slightly but could not be removed entirely without destroying the character. Story rating will change if enough people complain.

And that's it! So enjoy!

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Another War in Another World

"Move, move, MOVE!"

Bullets are flying. I can't see a damn thing through the cloud of kicked up dust but I keep pushing towards cover. Cole is on my right, his left arm sung over my shoulder while Joker has a grip on his waist as we carry him. His legs are bleeding like crazy, pieces of shrapnel are sticking out of them while Joker and I half carry half drag him out of the line of fire. The shrapnel in Cole's legs, and the smaller pieces I'm sure have cut into my helmet, are all that remain of our hummer. Seriously, what the fuck kind of explosives are these people using?

"Get your asses over here, Marines!"

I look up briefly to see Gunnery Sergeant Finnalwall barking orders over the zipping noise of bullets. My eyes are burning from the dust but I force myself to keep my head on swivel, shooting when needed.

"Fuck, Metalhead," Joker curses once we get under cover with the rest of what remained of our platoon. Together, Joker and I lower Cole onto his back, completely out of the line of fire. It's all that we can do for him right now. "Lose some fucking weight!"

"Now is not the God damn time, Sergeant!" I snap, pulling rank. I hate to do it, but right now really isn't the fucking time for Joker's bullshit.

"Get down!"

The orders are still ringing in my ears as I drop to the ground instinctively. Bullets bite into the wall behind the space our heads had just vacated.

"God damn it!" I curse. I look over our cover and nearly take a bullet to the eye. "Fuck!"

I turn to Gunny. He's the only one not completely fazed by the true war zone around us. He keeps his nerve as he bellows orders left and right.

"Sarvis!" He hollers over the noises of war, dropping rank completely. We don't have time to be fucking professionals here. "Take Richards-"

But whatever he is about to say next is cut off as a grenade lands in the middle of our foxhole. I don't think. I simply act.

"Flatliner!" Joker exclaims.

I can hear him as the world slows. Not even the bullets overhead can filter out the panic in his voice. It's not an emotion he normally shows but today is different. He knows what I'm about to do, everyone does, but no one will stop me. Why? Because then we'd all be fucking dead and no one wins that way.

"Noah, no!"

I hear his break and I look at him. It's too late. I'm already over the damn thing. Hopefully I can protect them. For the love of God, I hope I can.

Times stalls, my heartbeat, although it should be pumping fast with adrenaline, seems to be beating a slow, melody of to repeating notes. My eyes are locked on Joker's, my brother in all but blood. We've been through hell together and everything in between. I'm going to miss that motherfucker and I pray to God he makes it home to his family after this. I keep praying to God though. Hell, if the world is granting me time, why the fuck not?

I'm sorry for my sins. I'm sorry for killing those who could have been innocent with my gun and with my words. I'm sorry Selena, for leaving you fatherless. I'm sorry for her mother, wherever the fuck she is; that I drove her to her wild life and the drugs she takes. I should have been a better husband. I'm sorry dad, I swore I'd be home for Thanksgiving. Now you've lost your wife and your son. Take care of my little girl, dad. I sorry for all the stupid shit I did, when I was younger and now.

I'm sorry that I only had one life to give you and my country, God.

"Everyone, down!"

I pull the grenade closer to my abdomen. I think about my baby girl growing up without a father. I think about Joker and Gunny telling her and my father the news. I close my eyes and think about God instead.

"I-" I start but I suddenly feel as if something has been thrown across my body, like a blanket to keep me warm.

"Dreh ni gruz dinok, Dovahkiin, fah nii lost ni bo wah skoz hi tul..."

The grenade goes off and the last thing I hear is my little girl's laughter as I spin her around.

* * *

So that's a quick taste of what to expect. Putting it as simply as I possibly can, you have a Marine from our modern world being thrown into the role of the Dragonborn.

If you want more details, you'll just have to read but basically Sarvis, known as Flatliner by his buddies, will be giving you his view of everything as he struggles through his new reality.

Please Review!

PS the last part is written in the Language of Dragons (obviously)

Again, remember to review!

DCF


	2. Flashbacks

So I was surprised to see people were actually interested in my story idea but now I'm glad I posted it! Thank you **empire1003** and **guest** for your reviews!

Now, if the chapter title didn't tell you this, I guess I will. This is only flashbacks. I'm giving you a quick view of Sarvis's life but not all of it. It's just some information I think you'll appreciate later in the story.

Enjoy!  


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 **Flashbacks**  
 _They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Or maybe it's right before you die. It doesn't matter because right now I found myself staring down the trail my arrow had fired from my bow. I'm in shock. My arrow is buried inside the chest of a buck.  
It's my first hunt and my first kill.  
"Great shot, son!"  
My dad pats me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me over. I wake from my shock and smile up at him. He's so tall compared to me and he's not afraid of anything. One day, I want to be as big as he is and just as brave.  
"Come on, Noah," he says with an arm over my shoulders. "Now I'll teach you how to skin and gut your catch..."_

 _Kenny Parker and his dad are driving me home from our football game. Kenny and I are laughing in the bed of the truck about the cheerleaders. We're only twelve and our friend Sam has a crush on Cissy Louis, the redheaded cheerleader with the braces and freckles._

 _"Girls are gross," says Kenny.  
I nod my head yes in agreement. I open my mouth to reply but Mr. Parker slams on the breaks. A car collides with us and Kenny and I go flying into the air. Kenny screams but I'm too surprised to make a noise. I land on a car and lose vision to the sound of Kenny screaming..._

 _~  
Sam and the rest of the team sits with me at lunch. My arm is in a cast and my head has seventeen stitches. Kenny's dead. I was too but the doctor revived me. He couldn't revive Kenny. The older boys say it's okay to cry but I don't. I can't cry because I don't understand..._

 _~  
I'm a lifeguard and girls are not gross. I smirk at Sam as he flirts with Dani Baker, his feelings for Cissy long forgotten after four years. The new kid is walking by them and cracks a joke. He thinks he's funny but Sam doesn't and pushes him roughly against the empty lifeguard stand across the pool from me. I hear a snap and see the stand begin to fall. Sam pulls Cissy back but the new kid tumbles in the rope around the stand's lifesaver. People scream, others swim quickly out of that section of the pool, but the lifeguard stand falls and the new kid gets dragged into the pool with it, his head banging on the side as he fell.  
I dive in. Blood is forming in the pool from where the new kid's head split open. He's tangled in the rope and unconscious. I get him loose and send him up to the surface but get snagged myself. I keep getting more and more tangled until I finally black out...  
~_

 _I wake up minutes later. I died a second time but someone revived me, a girl my age named Becca. She looks like an angel..._

 _~  
Becca Harris is smiling brightly at me. I'm nervous despite not saying anything. We've been together for three months now.  
"Are you ready, flatliner?"  
I smile at her and the nickname she calls me. Chris Richards, the once new kid, gave it to me. In return I call him Joker because it nearly killed him for being one and he still hasn't learned his lesson.  
"I'm ready," I say softly to her and she smiles the angel smile I remember from when I woke up to her reviving me.  
I kiss her across the seat, making my move..._

 _~  
"Make your move, recruit!" Sergeant Mitchell barks over the thunder and the rain. I grunt a response and charge through the mud with Joker at my side.  
"Let's go, recruits!" snapped Staff Sergeant Wilson. "Move your asses!"  
"Aye, sir!" I reply, jumping the wall. Joker struggles so I grab his arm and pull him up.  
"What are you doing, recruit?" barked Sergeant Mitchell."This is not a team exercise!"  
"Semper Fi, sir!" is my only response before taking off to finish my course..._

 _~  
I take Becca's hands and look at her once more in her white dress with it's small lump in her stomach area. I can't stop myself from smiling. That's my child, my baby.  
I say "I do," and Becca cries out in joy as our loved ones cheer..._

 _~  
I hold my mom's hand and smile though I feel like crying. Mom smiles at me and dad. Dad cries but smiles back at her. I'm taller than him now, but he's still braver. I can't cry but he can.  
Her hand goes limp and dad sobs..._

 _~  
Becca squeezes my hand as I try to sooth her. She's breathing heavily.  
"We need you to push one more time, ma'am," the nurse says and Becca does with a small cry. Her cry is than joined in by another one, but this of a child. Our baby is born.  
"It's a girl," says the doctor, lifting our baby up.  
I cry for the first time in what feels like a long time.  
"Selena..."_

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 __

Again, this chapter consisted of flashbacks in Sarvis's life. Now you should all have an idea of what his life has been like so far. As you can see, it's been pretty basic with nothing really abnormal in it. His two 'deaths' are based loosely after my uncle's who actually earned the nickname flatliner while serving. Lastly, this isn't everything that has happened in his life, just a bit of it. More details to come!

Next chapter will take place in Skyrim!

Please Review!

DCF


	3. Bound for the Block

Again, this has been revised. I welcome corrective reviews! As long as they are corrective!

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We are now officially in Skyrim, people! Remember, I do not own the Elder Scrolls Copy right but I do own there games (as I have bought them just like all of you).

Thank you CauldronCalamity, empire1003, and DragonKoal for your reviews!

Please enjoy Sarvis's first interaction with the new world!

Oh, and quick warning: Sarvis's favorite word begins with F and will be appearing a lot in this series.

Enjoy!

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 **Bound for the Block**

"Selena..." I say groggily, my voice slurred and coming out in complete gibberish even I don't understand all of what I'm saying. "Hin Bormah is sorry he left..."

I open my eyes as much as I can but all I can see what looks like blurs of tree branches attempting to block out the bright sun. My back is pressed against a cold ground and as I slowly clench my hands I find myself with fist full of dirt instead of sand. Something moves next to me. I try to focus in on whatever it is that's moving but my eyes still will not work with me fully. All I can make out in my blurry vision is the outline of a person kneeling over me.

"Jarl Ulfric," says the figure above me. His voice is accented in a way I am unfamiliar with. "He's alive!"

From the far bottom corner of my right eye I see another blurry figure that had once looked as if it were part of the trees move towards the kneeling figure and myself. If anything, this figure seems to be darker and larger than the first, casting a shadow over me that blocks out most of the blinding sun.

"What did he just say, Ralof?" the new figure asks. His voices seems to hold something that demanded respect but was accented like the first.

I try to sit up, my head swimming as I push off my elbows as best I can.

"Wo Los Hi? Where am -"

The second figure raises his hand and uses it to push me back down by my shoulder. He does not use much force nor does he need to. I am far to dazed to fight him and I doubt I would have been able to stand if he had let me.

"Praan Nu, Zeymah," he says and I understand him. He wants me to rest and without hesitation I do as he says. My eyes close once more and my exhaustion covers me like a blanket that drags me back to sleep. The only happiness I find is knowing that I'm not dead before I drift unconscious once more.

There is jerking movement that rattles me about and wakes me the next time. My back is sore and I have no doubt as the reason for my pain is the awkward angle I find myself sitting in. Someone has moved me while I was unconscious as I find myself waking in a position of extreme discomfort. My hands are pressed between my chest and lap while my back is bent in such a way that my head hangs dangerously off my left knee with my face facing outwards. I'm not exactly sure what I am expecting to see as I slowly reopen my eyes but I know I'm not dead. Dead people don't feel like they just got hit by a train.

Opening my eyes as I begin to sit up, the first thing I see are my boots on my feet covered with sand and Cole's blood. Below my boots is wood and by the constant motion and rattling, I feel safe to assume I'm in a wagon of some sort before I even begin to look around more. My gaze continues upwards from my own boots to another pair. The boots before me, however, are made of fur and lead to man sitting across from me in what I can officially call a wagon. The man is not looking at me but over to his left. He bares a unique since of style if his current attire is anything to go off of. He's wearing fur and cloth over what looks like real chainmail. His hair is shoulder length, blonde, and braided in one small part. He reminds me of a Viking and has a good amount of scruff on his face as well. Behind him, however, is what truly catches me off guard.

A beautiful mountain landscape greets my eyes and I'm damn sure is not supposed to be there. Where my platoon had been last did not contain mountains such as these, nor did it accommodate trees of such a vivd green. No, we had been in a desert with mountains of sand instead of stone and cacti instead of trees, which even then had been few, especially when compared to the amount of trees around our partly paved path.

Having my eyes retrace their steps, I realize the Viking look-a-like's hands are bound and so are mine. I also notice that my left sleeve is missing, leaving my tattoo visible despite the amount of dry blood on me. Goosebumps from the cold air are crawling up my arm and the tattoo of the cross shaped sword Joker designed almost seems to shine unnaturally in a gleam of light.

I turn quietly to my right to finish my observations. I don't understand why I'm in a carriage surrounded by mountains and trees and I'm not instead scatter remains on a sandy battlefield with what remains of my platoon, but Im trying to pick up as much information as I can before asking any questions on the thought that perhaps I can discover the answers to my questions on my own. There is another man sitting next to the blonde with dark hair. He's covered in mud, wearing rags, and looks terrified. He too is bound and across from him and on my right is a third and final man. He too is a blonde like the Viking and wears furs only his are far more elegant than the the first man's. It looks like he killed a black bear and decided to make a long coat out of its fur while his boots seem to be a mixture between dark leather and metal I am unfamiliar with. Unlike myself and the other two men, he is both bound and gagged. He does not look at me but I catch a glimpse of a cross hanging around his neck identical to the one on my arm.

"Hey you."

I look back at the first man, the one in the chainmail. His voice is familiar and he's blue eyes look at me as if I am some kind of strange puzzle, but he also seems to have a hint of sympathy in his blue eyes too. Realization dawns on me as to why his voice sounds familiar to me. He is one of the men who found me earlier. Ralof, I believe is what the other man had called him.

"You're finally awake again," Ralof says, sounding both relieved and sorry. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

He tilts his head towards the man in rags who sneers at his introduction.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief sneers at the blonde when I turn his way. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell."

The thief looks at me almost pleadingly.

"You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

I don't know what to say. I don't understand what's going on or what the two men are talking about but the thief looks down at my arm and his eyes widen. He sneers at me like he had at the other man.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," says Ralof dryly. The thief goes to retort but the carriage drive tells us to shut up.

I rub my face with my bound hands but can't get this illusion to go away and discover my helmet to be missing. The thief looks at me weird.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" he asks the man in the black fur.

"Watch your tongue," Ralof snaps protectively at the thief. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

The thief looks surprised and twice as terrified as he once had. He's practically shivering in his seat, though I am too because of the cold winds and my missing sleeve. The weather here is completely different from that in the desert were I had been only hours ago... Hours? Minutes? Days? I'm not sure but I find days being the more likely answer on account of the complete weather change and scenery.

"Ulfric?" the thief says slowly as if begging for Ralof to be joking. "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've capture you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The thief's voice quivers and the other men look grim. I'm more confused on the fact the thief said gods, as in plural, instead of God than anything else. I only know of one religion with multiple gods and that's Hindu and the horse thief looked anything but Indian. Perhaps he converted or is actually an Atheist who offends people's religion when he's afraid. I've met plenty of those in my line of work.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," replies Ralof before he looks away. I know his tone. He thinks this is the end and I can't help but to feel dread along with an unexplained amount of curiosity towards this Sovngarde. Perhaps this is where we're heading.

The thief begins to panic at his words, leading me to believe that perhaps this Sovngarde is not a place I want to stay at for beers with my pals.

"No, this can't be happening. This can't be happening," chants the thief.

Ralof looks back at him.

"Hey, what village are you from horse thief?" he asks. The thief looks at him confused.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," replies Ralof before looking away. I can't help but to find his words mood dampening, not that I was in that great of a mood to begin with. One usually isn't too jolly when he wake up bound and stuck in a wagon full of men he's never met before. Not to mention he had said last thought, as if we were heading to our executions... Maybe we are.

The thief looks down at his feet but answers under his breath, "Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

Ralof nods but doesn't look back at the thief. He seems to be caught in his own thought and I find myself in similar shoes. I think about my own home, about the family cabin up in the mountains. Selena would be going to the same school I went to as a kid this year. I was going to walk her there on her first day of kindergarten, I had made sure that my R&R landed on that week just so I could. Maybe I still can, if I ever got out of this weird place or woke up from this crazy dream.

Trying to distract myself, I look over the carriage side as we pass through an open stone gate and see a group of men dressed similar to Roman soldiers. I cock my head at them in confusion. What the fuck is going on here?

"General Tullius, sir!" I hear one shout. "The headsman is waiting!"

I follow the direction of the Roman soldiers gaze and see an older man in better armor than the others on a horse nod his head curtly. He has a classic officer look that just makes me want to punch him in the throat and I don't even know the bastard.

"Good," he says plainly. His eyes fall on the man named Ulfric on my right. "Let's get this over with."

The thief starts naming off these names I've never heard before but somehow feel familiar with. He's begging for their help like someone would to God so perhaps he is Hindu. My eyes catch sight of a woman on a horse next to the one called Tullius snort. I don't know what the hell she thinks is so funny considering she looks like she's been painted with mustard by a six year old.

"Look at him," sneers Ralof with clear disgust in his voice, "General Tullius the Military Governor." Ralof spits on the floor of the wagon venomously. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

I snap my head towards Ralof. However, my sudden urge to call him a dumbass is quickly lessening when I realize I'm the only one who finds his calling of someone an elf idiotic. The desire disappears entirely when he looks around the medieval looking town we're passing through with a pained expression.

"This is Helgen," he says to no one in particularly before chuckling flatly. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." There's a pause and Ralof looks sadly at the stone towers around us. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

He scuffs before looking back down at his feet. I look over my shoulders and see a little boy sitting on his porch with his parents. I smile at him, unable to stop myself. He looks like Joker's second oldest son. His father touches his shoulder.

"It's time to go inside, little cub," he says with a grim look in our direction. The boy doesn't understand what his father is talking about and neither do I.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

I look away as his father sends him inside. I don't like where this is going at all.

The carriage begins to slow down as we reach a closed gate.

"Why are we stopping?" asks the thief in a panic filled tone.

"Why do you think?" Ralof replies with a scuff. "End of the line." The wagon stops and he's the first to his feet. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

It's about now, as I climb to my feet, that I realized that through my observations, I failed to notice the other wagons with us, each full of men and women dressed nearly identical to Ralof. The thief beings to panic even more as he gets off the wagon.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief," says Ralof grimly but the thief continues to panic.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

But no one listens to him. Each wagon seems to be assigned with man in Roman armor naming off names on a list and a second person accompanying them. Our man with the list is pale, and the only one besides thus Tullius guy not wearing a helmet. The person accompanying him is woman in similar armor to his only that it seems to be made of steel instead of leather. The man with the list begins reading off the names. First it's Ulfric, then its Ralof of Riverwood - wherever the hell that is - and last is the horse thief, Lokir of Rorikstead. Lokir panics and takes off running. His idea looked sound, as no one chased after him, until two arrows land in his back. I am too surprised to believe he had just been killed in such a manner. I understand killing someone while under orders, but the complete lack of emotion in the archers faces and the fact that they killed him with bows instead of a gun, it bewilders me.

"Wait."

I look away from Lokir the Deadman and back at the Roman dressed man in front of me.

"You there," he says with a nod my direction. "Step forward."

I do as he says until I'm standing three feet away. He looks me sharply in the eyes as if he were trying to figure me out just as Ralof had been. Both he and the woman in steel seem to be looking me over intently, especially my arm covered in dry blood.

"Who are you?"

I instinctively stand as close to at attention as I can with my hands bound.

"Staff Sergeant Sarvis of the United States Marine Corps, sir," I respond without hesitation, though my voice is scratchy from shouting all of yesterday, or whenever it was the last time I was awake, but I'm still bewildered by what's going on. The man looks so too.

"Sarvis?" he repeats and for a second I think he might know who I am and why the hell I'm here. That thought is quickly ruined when all he does is write it down. "Are you an Imperial?"

"I'm a Marine," I reply but the man simply looks at the woman next to him with a quizzical glance.

"He's probably from one of the thousands of colonies near the Cyrodiil," the woman says, answering the unasked question. "There's too many to know them all, but he's definitely the son of an Imperial, maybe a Nord mother with those eyes."

"If you have a problem with the way I fucking look-" I growl out hotheadedly but either they don't speak insult or the one guy was trying to avoid a fight because he cut me off.

"Captain, he's not on the list."

"Forget the list," the woman says distastefully while looking at my bare arm. "He goes to the block."

I highly doubt I am going to enjoy going 'to the block' as the woman had said considering what that means where I'm from. The man frowns but does not argue.

"By your orders, Captain." He turns to me. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

The man's words only strengthen my unwanted theory that I am once again on death's door.

"To my father," I request, hoping that he can at least figure out where I'm from by looking at my dog tags. "And my little girl."

The man nods softly.

"Follow the Captain, prisoner."

I do as I'm told though I can't really say why. Perhaps, before I even realized it myself, I'd already accepted my death and would rather die with courage than with two arrows in my back.

The woman leads me so that I'm standing between Ulfric and Ralof. Across from us is a man in a mask stands by a block covered in dry blood. He's holding an axe, and it all looks a bit too medieval to me, too real to be real. A woman in brown robes with a yellow tinted hood stands near him along with the woman in steel and the man called General Tullius. Tullius approaches us, more directly Ulfric. He begins talking in an officer tone of voice I'm all too familiar with.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he drags out. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne."

I smirk despite myself, finding it funny that despite not knowing where I am or what the hell is going, the snotty way officers talk hasn't changed. Ralof raises an eyebrow at me in surprise, probably startled by my smile before death.

Ulfric grunts, and practically shrugs his shoulders. It's all he can really do with the gag in his mouth.

"You started this war," continues Tullius, ignoring Ulfric's gesture, "plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the piece."

A strange noise fills the air after Tullius all but shouts his last words. It sounds like a roar from an old dinosaur movie. I look around and find that I'm not alone in looking confused.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing," says Tullius, more annoyed than curious. He then returns to his place several steps away from Ulfric. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," says the woman in steel. She turns to the woman wearing the brown robes and says, "Give them their last rites."

The robed woman nods before beginning to speak.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos," snaps a red headed man, moving forward from the end of the line directly towards the block. "Shut up and let's get this over with."

The woman stops abruptly and says, "As you wish."

The redheaded man kneels down and places his head on the block without a speck of hesitation.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning," he barks at the headsman. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

The headsman doesn't hesitate either. He raises his axe and in one quick sweep the redhead's head comes clean off. I wince at the noise the connecting of the axe blade and head made, barely noticing as the redhead's blood splatters on my boots.

"You Imperial bastards!" cries one of the other prisoners, this one being a woman.

A man watching calls the execution justified while the woman next to him demands the death of all Stormcloaks. I had not known people were watching until their voices met my ears.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," says Ralof softly from my side. I can't help but to wonder if Joker would have said something along those lines at my funeral.

I'm called next to the block. I approach it calmly, though I am not fearless. In fact, if it wasn't for years of having to be the brave one for everyone else, I'm sure my legs would be shaking as I walk up to the block. This is not the same as going into a gun fight. I know I have no chance at survival here.

The strange noise is heard again but once more it is ignored by myself included. I'm slightly distracted by my inevitable death, one that I am sure I have no chance of being revived from. Losing your head seems to me to be one of those kinds of deaths you have zero chance of walking away from.

I drop to my knees and can only smell blood from the head in the basket below me. The smell makes me nauseous. I'm going to die again and this time without reason. I look up at the headsman who looks at me with a feral grin. At least the fucker enjoys his job. The axe raises into the air and time begins to slow again.

I was given a second chance only to die again. Selena will be without a dad and my father will have to bury his son. I broke my promise to them both that I'd return and to Joker, who I promised not to ever nearly die for again. I wish I could of used this second chance better...

The roar fills the air once more. I lift my head at the sight in front of me. The headsman is oblivious to it but he doesn't worry me anymore, at least, not as much as what's behind him.

"What in Oblivion is that?"

"A fucking dragon?" I ask myself as said creature roars through the sky. It lands on the tower behind the headsman, shaking the earth and causing the headsman to fall. "That's a fucking dragon!"

The dragon looks directly at me. It opens its mouth and I'm expecting to be burned alive - that's what dragons do in stories from when I was a kid anyways - but instead he lets out a shout that shakes the earth around me. I stumble backwards, my eyes still locked on the dragon and his eyes locked on me.

"Don't just stand there!" yells Tullius at his troops. "Kill that thing!"

The dragon has an amused look directed towards me before he shouts again.

This time, I fall over because of the force. An explosion sound fills the air and I hear Tullius yelling off orders about protecting townsfolk. People are running about and screaming. Then an arm grabs me and lifts me to my feet.

"Get up!" says Ralof, as he helps me up. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance! This way!"

He takes off towards a tower and I stumble while following him. My feet are heavy but I force them to move at least until we make it inside. Once there, I gasp for air, feeling as if I have just sprinted a mile instead of several feet. I look around quickly as I do and find the room's occupants, besides Ralof and myself, are two Stormcloaks and Ulfric.

Ralof goes straight to his leader Ulfric, who is helping one of his wounded men.

"Jarl Ulfric," he says, "what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric looks up grimly at him.

"Legends don't burn down villages."

The dragon roars from just outside the tower and my heart tightens at the noise.

"We need to move now!" snaps Ulfric. He orders one of his other men to help the injured up.

"Up through the tower," says Ralof. He nods towards me. "Let's go!"

I hurry up the stairs with him. Another Stormcloak is already there, trying to move stones out of the way. I move to help him only to be thrown away from the wall as the dragon breaks it down. Just barely do I hide behind a fallen stone to avoid the flames shot at me from the dragon, who, evidently, can shoot flames like they do in the stories.

"Fuck!" I yell over the screams of the other man while he burns alive. On the other side of the the flames, I see Ralof pressed against the remaining wall, having been saved from the fire by Ulfric.

"Go!" yells Ulfric once the dragon leaves, having, I suppose, grown bored with us. "Before the beast returns!"

I look out the new hole in the tower and see a house only a few feet below. Figuring that's what Ulfric meant, I jump towards it and tumble inside. I fall on my side roughly but it was the best I could do with my hands bound.

I don't wait for the others to follow me. After all, I don't know how safe my path is so it might be best that they don't follow me. I drop to the second floor and land roughly on my knee but keep moving. Just outside the ruined house are other survivors, one being the boy from earlier.

"Haming, you need to get over here, now!" says the man who had the list earlier. But the boy doesn't move though and after drawing closer I can see why. He's kneeling next to his wounded father's side, trying to help get his father up but to no avail.

He still doesn't move when the dragon lands in front of him and his father both.

"Haming!"

I don't hesitate. I tackle the boy out of the way just as the dragon let's out a roar of flames, consuming the boy's father.

As quickly as the dragon had come, he leaves and I release the boy from my grasp now that it's safe. He's frightened and clearly in shock, but doesn't fight when another man, ordered by the soldier from earlier, carries him, hopefully, towards safety. The soldier then approaches me with a nod.

"You're still alive, prisoner?" asks the soldier, motioning for me to follow him. "Keep with me if you want to stay that way."

I suppose that's his way of thanking me for saving the boy so I follow him. We hurry down a broken path.

"Stay close to the wall!" the soldier shouts just as the dragon lands above us. I press myself so much against the wall that I think I might dissolve into it, unable to do anything but pray the dragon does not see us. My prays seem to be answered as the dragon does not see us but sends more merciless flames out on our path ahead. Once he's gone we hurry on our way once more.

"To the keep!" yells the soldier while motoring towards a one of the only stone buildings still standing.

I have no idea what the man is talking about but I keep running towards the building. My breathing is erratic but I have no time to fix it as I dodge falling debris and hurtle the dead. The ground shakes once more and the bridge above the soldier and I collapses. I dive right but don't see the soldier anywhere. I try to get back up on my feet, but I fall once more as the dragon lands directly in front of me, shaking the earth. He seems to be watching me with a form of amusement only a predator could possess and like a predator, he opens his wide mouth in my direction.

"Fuck!" I shout before diving again. I only avoid some of the fire that escape the dragon's roar, burning my back and causing myself some agonizing pain. Only a few feet from the door, I try to stand or at least crawl, but can't. I'm a dead man this time for sure.

"I have you, friend," says a familiar voice as arms grabs my own and pulls me forward towards the door. I hiss at the pain that shoots through me as Ralof drags me by my now burning limbs but I do not complain as he hales me inside.

* * *

Sarvis has joined Ralof in the escape from Helgen! He's still completely confused but he's adapting quickly because he has too.

Next up should be the escape from Helgen!


	4. Escaping Helgen

I need to apologize for my earlier author's note. Even though it may not have been found rude by some, it was still rash and not fully thought out. I appreciate everyone's criticism whether it be good or bad and I apologize if I made it seem like otherwise. In fact, I very much enjoy knowing my mistakes in grammar and spell and facts because it helps me improve my writing and my expression of my ideas and imaginations. Thank you everyone that has reviewed!

Please enjoy Sarvis's escape from Helgen!

Also, watch out, Sarvis's favorite word shall be appearing a lot this chapter!

* * *

 **Escaping Helgen**

Once inside, Ralof tries to lower me down to the stone floor slowly but I slip from his grasp. I land with a small 'oof' on the floor but luckily I land on my chest and not my mutilated back.

"It's alright," Ralof says soothingly as I try to slow my ragged breathing again. The cool stone pressed against my cheek is reassuring to me and also serves as I reminder that I am not dead. I wince as Ralof removes what remained of the back top layer of my uniform from my back despite doing so nimbly. However, it becomes a numb pain, so much to the point that I no longer feel it when he is nearly finished.

"It's healing quickly," Ralof says when he is done removing the little fabric that had persevered the fire. "It will be fine soon."

As best I can, I lift my head off the ground and turn towards Ralof. He can't possibly be talking about my back, which was now, no doubt, covered from my neck to waist in third degree burns at least.

"What the fuck are you-"

I stop speaking abruptly when Ralof presses his hand against the center of my back. I expect pain and I fell some to an extant, however it is not at all the level I was expecting. It simply feels as if Ralof is touching a severe sunburn instead of exposed and burned muscles.

"But, the dragon burned me," I mutter aloud in complete and utter disbelief.

"And you healed yourself," says Ralof, as if it were really that simple. Standing up, he mutters something in which I distinctly hear the word magic before looking across the room and noticing something. He takes off towards it, leaving me in my bewilderment.

Very carefully, I sit up. My back is only hurting a bit now but I am still slow while I remove what remains of my shirt as to not cause myself any unneeded pain. I needed not worry for as I do so I feel nothing out of the usual at all.

My gaze returns to Ralof, who is on the opposite of the circular room connected to the entrance I am currently sitting in. Almost immediately my eyes zone in on the deadman he is kneeling over, who is no doubt a fellow Stormcloak if his armor is anything to go off of.

However, the dead Stormcloak is the least of my worries.

"You're telling me," I say, poking my back gingerly, "that I just healed from third degree burns by myself? What, are you saying, I can do magic or some shit? Do you know how fucking ridiculous that sounds?"

But Ralof either has ignored me or didn't share my concerns. He closes the man's eyes saying something about this Sovngarde place again. And only then does turns back to me.

"Can you stand yet?" he asks calmly, as if he hadn't just found a dead friend or gotten yelled at for talking about magic.

"Yes," I say before doing just that.

My feet wobble a bit, but I stay on them with what remains of my jacket in a tight grip between my hands. I'm a little peeved that he's not answering my questions but perhaps he doesn't know himself. As I calm down, I lessen my grip on my jacket and transfer my items from its front pockets to my pants' pockets before discarding it on the ground with the rest of its remains. Without so much as another word, Ralof cuts my bindings off and I flex my hands. ThenI feel around my belt before cursing loudly.

"Where's my gun?" I ask, growing angry on the account of my weapons absence from its hoister.

"What is a gun?" asks Ralof with a raised eyebrow. "You need a weapon. Take Gunjar's gear. He can't use it anymore."

"But where's my gun?" I repeat. I point down at my empty hoister. "It was on my hip... It's a metal... thing... shaped a bit like an L."

Ralof still looks at me in confusion and j can't really be mad at him for it considering the people here were still shooting bows and executing with axes.

"The only thing we took off your person when we found you was your helmet," he states honestly. "We were going to bandage you up before the damn Imperials ambushed us. They took our weapons, perhaps they took this gun of yours too."

I know he's not lying so I cut my losses and move towards the dead man. The tower we're in is cold and everyone seems to be running around with swords and axes so taking his gear may be a good idea. I throw the chainmail and fur on but remain in my trousers and boots. With a quick search of said boots, I am pleased to find my father's hunting knife still in my possession but keep it in my boot. I then pick up the axe off the floor. Ralof watches me with a mixture of interest and amusement as I try to get a grip on the weapon.

"Have you ever used an axe?" he asks looking rather entertained on my behalf.

"Only to cut wood and kill chickens," I answer honestly. "I'm more of a guns and knives kind of guy. I can use a bow too, though that's not very helpful in these close quarters."

Ralof nods he's head.

"Well, give that axe a few swings. I'm going to see if I can get that gate open."

He walks off and I do swing the axe but I don't know why. I'm not planing on killing anybody with it. I'm not at war right now. I'm trying to escape a fucking dragon.

Ralof grunts in annoyance after shaking the gate.

"This one's locked. Let's see about that gate."

He walks over to the other gate as I run my free hand through my very short hair. When I was younger this action used to calm me down but it's not working right now. It might have to do with the fact that I just saw a fucking dragon!

"Damn. No way to open this from our side," grumbles Ralof after noticing the lack of handles on the other gate. He looks at me curiously again. "I'm Ralof, though I'm sure you heard the Imperial announce that before sending us to our deaths."

"Noah Sarvis, friends call me flatliner."

By the confused expression of Ralof's face, I can tell he doesn't have a clue where my nickname could have come from. Not that I'm surprised considering how medieval this place is, so much so, that if it gets any more I'm going to start asking questions about King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.

"You can call me Sarvis," I add.

Ralof nods but before he can say anything, he jerks out of view of the gate and pins himself against the wall. He motions for me to do the same just as a woman's voice travels down the tunnel.

"It's the Imperials!" Ralof hisses. "Take cover!"

I look at him in complete bewilderment but do as he says. The gate opens and two Imperials, as Ralof called them, walk in. They have to be willing to reason -

"Die, you Stormcloak bastard!" shouts the Imperial officer as she dove at me only to be stopped by Ralof impaling her back with an axe. He kills the other Imperial just as quickly.

"The fuck?" I say aloud, not sure if I'm more angry or baffled by the attack made by the Imperials. "Don't they realize there's a dragon out there? We could have worked together, the fuckers."

"Imperials don't work with us Talos worshipers," says Ralof, wiping the blood on his axe off on his armor. He ignores my confused look and instead searches officer's armor. A smile appears on his face and I can only guess he's found whatever it was that he was looking for. "Come. I found a key on the scum."

Very reluctantly I do as he says. I'm not exactly pleased my questions haven't been answered but I know better than to keep bringing them up when we're trying to survive the situation we're in. Even if that does mean accepting the fact that there's a fire breathing dragon outside and a pack of wannabe Roman soldiers called Imperials trying to kill us for no reason. Questions can always be asked later.

Ralof and I hurry down a set of stairs and into what looks like a storage room. Two Imperials are already inside and seem to be searching for supplies, so Ralof and I sneak in quietly. Evidently we're not sneaky enough as the soldier in the steel armor begins to turn around while saying, "What was that?"

"Die, you Imperial dogs!" Ralof yells, charging the two men head on. I follow after him, still unsure about killing the men until the one in steel goes to stab Ralof in the back. I bury my axe in his skull and leave it there before stabbing the other one with my own knife, after I retrieved it instinctively, in the soft spot between his collarbone and neck. Blood is everywhere but I ignore it. I have to ignore it.

"Here," says Ralof, handing me a red bottle. "Drink this for your leg."

I look down and see a large gash in said leg. I hadn't even felt it and I don't know why the sight led me to doing as Ralof said but I drown down the bottle. In complete fascination I watch as my leg heals.

"I need more of these," I mutter aloud and Ralof laughs.

"So do we all, my friend."

He pats my back, which no longer hurts at all, and we carry on after I take one of the Imperials' swords to replace my axe.

After preceding down another hall followed by a staircase, we enter a large room with three rusting cages. Ralof is horrified when we realize it's a torture room. Two other Stormcloak are already there and fighting two Imperials. Ralof charges into the fight while I falter on the stairs at the sight in front of me. One of the Imperials is casting magic. Fucking magic! Lightning is literally coming out of his fucking hands!

Finally snapping out of my frozen state, I rush in to help Ralof and his fellow Stormcloaks. I kill the... the mage?... but the other Imperial succeeds in killing one of the two other Stormcloaks. The other one only survives because I dig my knife into her attacker's spin.

"Have you seen Jarl Ulfric?" asks Ralof while helping his fellow soldier to her feet.

The girl shakes her head no and explains that she and the dead Stormcloak had only just escaped. She joins us as we continue on our way but she doesn't last long. The next room is crawling with Imperials and they kill her easily while we fought. I take her bow and shoot down three men in her honor.

"Let's go on ahead," says Ralof grimly once we finish clearing the room of Imperials and he finished saying a small pray of some sort over the dead girl. "See if the way is clear."

I have no room to argue with him so I follow him without a word. He pulls a lever and a bridge drops down for us. No sooner had we crossed it, the bridge is destroyed by falling rocks.

"Fuck," I curse aloud and Ralof smirks despite our situation.

"No going back that way, now," he says. "We'd better push on."

"Yeah, no kidding," I mutter before fixing my bow on my shoulder and following after him. I tried not to think about how weird this all is. I need to focus solely on surviving.

Crossing the bridge had led us out of what I like to call a medieval dungeon and into a strangely well lit cave. Ralof and I both folks the stream as far as we can before having to veer right because of a dead end. I get a very bad gut feeling about the path we're taking when I see a spider web big enough to catch a man a few yards above us. The bad feeling is only proven when we're surrounded by spiders in a wide clearing of the cave. Now, I've faced camel spiders before, and those mother fuckers are huge, but this shit is fucking ridiculous. Luckily the giant freaks' poison only lasted a few minutes or else I'd be dead - again - when one of the very large spiders bit me but we finally succeed in killing the last of them.

Ralof tore a piece of cloth from something in the small pouch on his hip.

"I hate those damn things," he curses before he starts patching my arm up where the mother of fucking spiders bit me. "Too many eyes, you know?"

"Why the hell are they so big?" I asks once he's finished and we are continuing on our way.

"A question to be asked in Sovngarde, my friend," he states with a faint smile.

"And where the fuck is that?" I ask, having heard the word one too many times from him.

Ralof freezes. He looks at me as if I had just asked him who the hell is Jesus Christ.

"First Talos, now Sovngarde, what are they teaching in Cyrodiil?" he asks me in a completely aghast tone.

"I'm from the fucking Adirondack Mountains in New York, brother," I correct him in an indifferent tone. "I've never even heard of this Cyrodiil place you're talking about, hell, I don't even know where the fuck I am."

Ralof went to answer me but stops immediately to instead point out the bear sleeping a few yards away. I, however, can't help but to sigh in relief. I'm at least familiar with one creature in this place.

"Let's sneak past it, shall we?" Ralof whispers to me.

I nod my head before crouching down and creeping as quietly as I can with Ralof past the beast. When we're a safe enough distance away, Ralof lets out a sigh of relief.

"At least we escaped dealing with the she-bear," he says with a chuckle.

"Yeah," I mutter, "at least that..."

"And that looks like the way out!" Ralof exclaims when we see what looks like an exit to the cave. "I knew we'd make it!"

He lets out another chuckle I can't help but to share because we're alive and now I'm one step closer to going home...

* * *

End of Escaping Helgen! Next up is Sarvis and Ralof's journey to Riverwood where questions will be asked and maybe a few will be answered!

Please review!

DCF


	5. To Riverwood

Sorry this update took so long! I was trying to put some corrective criticism to work in it and will continue to do so. With that said, updates should be every five to seven days.

Now, an answer to DragonKoal's question. I did think on making potions not work on Sarvis at first but having them work only adds to his confusion on the world he's in. He'll get even more confused when magic comes into play as well.

Please enjoy!

* * *

 **To Riverwood**

Ralof stops once we have fully exited the cave but I stumble pass him for a few more paces. I don't know how long we've been underground, be it hours or days, so the sight of blue sky and beautiful land around us has me chuckling softly.

"Thank you, God," I laugh with a shake of my head.

Everything is so much more beautiful now that I know I'm alive and don't have to look over my shoulder every second for fear of a dragon or Imperial trying to kill me. Even the rocky dirty below me is a lovely sight and I have half a mind to kiss it in gratitude for being there without a hint of embarrassment towards what Ralof would think. However, before I can do so, Ralof grabs my shoulder and urgent directs my to a boulder near the cave's entrance for cover.

"Wait!" he hisses just as a thundering roar of the dragon fills the air over head. I look up cautiously and catch sight of the great beast flying past heigh above.

I curse myself for not paying attention. If not for Ralof, I might have drawn the dragon's attention and then met a fiery grave. I can actually hear Gunny chewing me out in my head for my lack of observation. 'Where the fuck was your head, Marine?' he'd say and Joker would mock me about it constantly. The only difference is, there aren't any dragons where I'm from.

Ralof and I stay perfectly still under behind our makeshift shelter until the flapping of the dragon's wings and its roar are all but echos in the hills.

"There he goes," says Ralof, both in awe and a bit of relief. "Looks like he's gone for good this time."

Cautiously, I look over the boulder, this time making damn sure to be observant. I catch one last glimpse of the dragon, now only the size of a thumbnail from its distance, before it disappears into the clouds and mountain tops.

And speaking of mountain tops, I know for damn sure there aren't any where my platoon is located, not for several miles that is, and it's only this cold at night in the desert. Not that it's freezing or anything, but it's clearly not desert weather and it is cold. The weather reminds me of mid fall or early spring in the mountains back home and the scenery is similar but definitely not the same. The trees are different and so are the flowers, some of which being unfamiliar to me.

Ralof starts heading down a long, partly stoned path motioning me to follow. He looks unnerved but mostly relieved that we've finally escaped. It's the first time I've seen him without a confident or determined look and instead he looks tired.

"No way to know if anyone else made it out alive," says Ralof grimly as we walk. "But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out."

"Right," I mutter quietly, keeping his pace. Despite looking tired his eyes are alert and his shoulders are tense with nerves but at least he seems to know where we're going.

I figure my expression gave away what I'm thinking as he then says, "My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out."

I nod my head but don't reply, very glad he hadn't just told us to part ways. I don't think that I'd make it very far in this strange place alone especially with a dragon about.

I close my eyes tightly but keep walking. There's a dragon - a _fucking_ dragon. Everything I know, everything I've been taught, tells me that dragons aren't real, they just don't exist. Only in mythology are they real... and in some Asian cultures... and there was that thing with Saint George, may father's namesake... The point is, dragons do not exist and neither do giant spiders or mages for that matter. It just isn't possible... but I know what I saw and unexplainable or not, I definitely can't say they don't exist anymore.

However, the very thought of a mythical beast turning out to not be mythical, or that there are such things as giant spiders - I'm at least positive about this considering one bit me - and magic isn't just make-believe has me on the verge of screaming madness, collapsing on the ground into a curled up ball, and rocking back and forth until Gunny wakes me up in the infirmary telling me that I've a severe case of PTSD and have been hallucinating because this cannot - _cannot_ \- be real.

Sadly though, I know it all is and denying it won't get me anywhere.

Ralof pats me on the back and I nearly deck him but restrain myself. He doesn't know I'm suffering from a new form of PTSD, the one we're you see a fucking dragon destroy an entire village forcing you to escape through a cave full of crazy people that want to kill you for no fucking reason and giant spiders but fail to freak out accordingly.

"I wouldn't have made it without your help today, friend," he says calmly but I see a hint of worry in his eyes. I must look as rough as he does so I try to assure him I'm fine.

"And I would have died with my hands still bound without you, so I think we're even," I say, forcing a smirk on my lips.

Ralof laughs genuinely shaking his head.

"You know," he says, still shaking his head and with a slight chuckle, "you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask, mildly interested simply for his benefit. I'd rather be heading home. However, I can't skip the opportunity to have some of my questions answered. "This empire, why were they trying to execute us? Especially that one blonde guy. Ulfric, I think is what you called him."

Ralof stops in his tracks and looks at me with a lifted eyebrow. He leans back on a tree without taking his gaze away from my face with a look complete utter bafflement sketched on his features.

"Seriously?" He asks with an amount of disbelief in his voice that fits how he looks perfectly. "You don't know? That was Ulfric Stormcloak himself."

"Oh, right," I say sarcastically - it's how I deal with stress - nodding my head a bit, "Ulfric Stormcloak..."

"Right," Ralof says, catching my sarcasm but thankfully not getting offended by it. I guess he remembers me being confused on the other shit he thought was common knowledge earlier. His shock lessens and he pushes off his tree. "He's the leader of our fight against the Empire. I forget most people don't know what he looks like except for those Imperial wanted posters."

I smirk at Ralof's own sarcasm and he smirks as well. It reminds me of most of my conversations with Joker. Of course, Joker and I never talked about empires with fantasies of cutting off men's heads.

"He's our leader - the leader of the Stormcloaks," explains Ralof, motioning to himself as if to say that he is a Stormcloak, something I already knew

"And who are the Stormcloaks?" I ask and I'm glad to see the Ralof has finally realized I don't have any idea what he's talking about so he explains.

"The Nords-"

"What's a Nord?"

Ralof shakes his head good naturedly, a smiling tugging at his lips.

"You must have hit your head or something, Imperial," he chuckles while we walk. "I'll humor you, however. Nords are men and women born of Skyrim heritage."

"So it's a race?" I ask carefully.

Ralof nods his head patiently.

"Yes. As are Imperials, Bretons, Elves and others. Shall I explain them too?"

His question is only partly sarcastic and I know that he's will to explain if I ask so I do.

"If you plan on using those terms, then yeah," I say with a nod. "That would be beneficial until I get out of this place."

Ralof sighs before giving up on walking to instead sit down on some rocks. He motions that I do the same before goes on to explain the races of Imperial, Nords, Breton, Redguard, High Elf, Wood Elf, Dark Elf, Orc, and Argonian. I have my doubts on the last two but i don't have much room to call BS on them. I have actually seen a elf, or at least a High Elf, so I know he's not lying about that. Only after he finishes his explanations for the races and we continue on walking does Ralof continue his explanation of the Stormcloaks.

"Those who are tired of spending our blood fighting the Empires wars, and paying for the Empire's decadence with our taxes."

"Sounds like the Revolutionary War meets Vikings and Romans," I mutter under my breath while Ralof continues.

"Ulfric is our rightful High King. He's leading the fight to drive the Empire out of Skyrim, once and for all."

I nod my head but really don't get much from his speech about Stormcloaks except that basically there is a civil war going on. I decide to ask a more important question.

"I woke up with you and that Ulfric fellow talking over me," I start as we continue our decline on our path. "Do you know what happened to me?"

"'fraid not," Ralof says apologetically. "We found you rather beaten a bit off the road. "Thought you were dead until you started talking nonsense about a girl named Selena."

"That's my daughter," I explain and Ralof nods his head.

"Ah," he says as if my words answered an unasked question. "Well, then Jarl Ulfric muttered something to you and you fell unconscious again. He removed your helmet and had you carried to our camp to have your wounds cleaned up."

"So how did we end up in a carriage destined for the chopping block?" I ask a bit more bluntly than I meant to.

Ralof frowns as we make another turn in the path while saying, "You were with us, that's why. I was assigned to Ulfric's guard. The next day we were on our way to Darkwater Crossing, in the south of Eastmarch with you in the supply wagon on account that you hadn't waken yet." A disgusted look crosses his face next. "The Imperials were waiting for us. As pretty an ambush as I ever saw. We were outnumbered five to one, at least. Ulfric ordered us to stop fighting. Didn't want us all to die for nothing, I guess."

I stop a few paces later when I realize Ralof isn't following. His eyes are distant as I look back at him and for a moment he looks like a ghost of a man. When he speaks again, he sounds like a ghost too.

"I thought they were taking us south to Cyrodiil. Parade us in front of the Emperor. But then we stopped in Helgen, and you know the rest."

"But why was I supposed to be killed?" I ask slightly impatient. I know this is hard on Ralof but I need answers. "Why did they think I was a Stormcloak? Was it really just because I was with you?"

Ralof points at my arm, more directly at my tattoo.

"When we found you, there was a tear in your sleeve," he goes on explaining. "Jarl Ulfric saw the symbol of Talos on you and had us remove it as to prove his suspicion. To him, Talos's symbol marked you as our brother and whatever gibberish you spoke only served to confirm it so. Sadly, this is also why the Imperials and their Thalmor masters sentenced you to the same fate as ours."

I shake my head at Ralof. I almost find his words comical. Sentenced to death over a tattoo? I can only imagine what they would have done to Joker considering he has eleven, one of which being of his wife in an... interesting pose.

"This," I say, lifting my arm up so that I'm sure Ralof can see my tattoo, "is a cross, a symbol of Jesus."

Ralof smiles faintly at me. He reaches under his armor and retrieves an amulet similar to the one I had seen around Ulfric's neck and just like Ulfric's, it's nearly identical to my tattoo.

"What ever you may call him," he says distantly, his eyes gazing upon his talisman with a fond look, "he is what we truly fight for."

Unsure as of what to say, I shift my stance in silence while waiting on Ralof. After a moment he looks up at me with a proud man's grin.

"And he is why you should join the Stormcloaks to defend our faith in our God," he states confidently and full of conviction.

I blink at him. Suddenly his petty civil war seems a bit more like a Crusade than a rebellion to me. Maybe it is. After all, there's a shit ton of names for God, right? Talos could be one too for all I know.

"We'd better keep moving," Ralof says before starting out again. "I don't want to run into any Imperials who know what happened at Helgen."

He begins heading down the trail and I hurry to his side. Maybe he's onto something, maybe he knows something I don't know.

"You really think I should join up with this Ulfric Stormcloak?" I ask.

Ralof snorts.

"Dam right," he says smacking me on the back in a friendly manner once more. "You don't have to be a Nord to fight for Skyrim's freedom. You should come to Windhelm with me and join the fight to free Skyrim. Besides, if anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric."

"You think Ulfric knows where the dragon came from?" I ask with a bit of disbelief in my voice.

"Well..." sighs Ralof, "maybe not. Dragons haven't been seen in Skyrim for an age or more. But wherever that dragon came from, and whatever it wants, Ulfric will get to the bottom of it. You can count on that. Besides, you have your own score to settle with the Empire now. And with the dragon."

I snort, shaking my head a bit. Ralof's logic sounds a lot like Joker's.

"You've made a good case," I chuckle but Im surprised by the fact that I am half serious. "Maybe I will go to Windhelm, wherever the hell that is."

"I hope so," says Ralof as we approach three strange stones. "Skyrim needs people like you to fight for her freedom."

I stop an admire the three stones. They've clearly been carved into by someone with amazing skill at sculpting. The first stone, the on my left, looks like it has a carving of Robin Hood on it. The center stone, in all honesty looks as if Harry Potter geek got a hold on it and dedicated it to Dumbledore. As for the third stone...

"These are the Guardian Stones," Ralof explains as I step forward, "three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Go ahead, see for yourself."

I can feel a strange drawing to the one on the far right. It depicts that of a soldier of war. I reach out towards it, my curiosity growing with in me to the point that it is fit to burst, and as I touch it I feel a warmth in my hand that travels through my body.

Suddenly a line of light appears within the sky and goes directly through the stone. I want to pull my hand away but find myself too fascinated by the light. However, as quickly as the line of light came it disappears and I finally remove my hand.

"Warrior," chuckles Ralof while clapping his hands together in approval. "Good! Those stars will guide you to honor and glory."

"I'd rather they guide me home," I mutter and Ralof frowns a bit.

He points to a ruin across the river from us.

"See that ruin up there?" he says and I can't help but to feel as if he is trying to distract me from something, perhaps even my home. "Bleak Falls Barrow. I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place. I guess you get used to it."

I nod my head but can't help but to wonder if Ralof _is_ trying to distract me. Why would he though?

"Remember," says Ralof, cutting into my thoughts as we continue on our way, "this isn't Stormcloak territory. If we're ahead of the news from Helgen we should be fine as long as we don't do anything stupid. And if we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking."

"Right," I say in agreement. That would be the wiser decision, anyways. I don't know anything about the Imperials except for what Ralof has told me anyways and I know from experience I'm an expert at inserting my foot in my mouth around assholes.

We continue on our way as the sun begins to lower in the sky.

"So your sister owns a mill?" I ask when we stop for water.

"Aye," says Ralof with a smile. "Like to tease her 'bout it too. Says she owns Riverwood because of it as the mill brings in all of the towns profit. She hates it."

"I used to tease Becca about her dad being a doctor," I add.

"Is this Becca your sister?" Ralof asks as we set off again from our water stop.

"Jesus, no," I chuckle before frowning a bit. "She's my ex-wife. She's Selena's mother."

"X-wife?" Ralof repeats, unfamiliar with the term. "As in you left her?"

"No," I say perhaps a bit too firmly as Ralof seems to jump with my word. "She left me and Selena about two years ago. I guess she couldn't handle being a Marines wife and the fact that I wasn't going to pay for her drug addiction."

Ralof shook his head.

"What is a Marine? Why would your wife leave you because you were one?"

"I am a Marine," I corrected. "There is no was or were. A Marine, I guess in simple terms is a high class soldier. We get the missions the simpletons in the Army and Navy can't handle and the Air Force are too dumb to even know exist."

Ralof cocks his head to the side clearly confused.

"Air Force?" he asks.

"Don't even get me started, pal," I say with a shake of my head in disgust. "I'm not a big fan of that branch of the military and would rather not go into details."

"Understood," says Ralof.

We continue walking for a bit more before he speaks again.

"You said your X-wife has a drug addiction. Like skooma?"

"Err, sure?" I ask more than say. "If that's what they call it here. We call it crack where I'm from."

"And where are you from again?" Ralof asks.

"I'm from the States, the United States," I explain. "More specifically the State of New York. Ever heard of it?"

Ralof shakes his head.

"'fraid not," he says. "Is it a province?"

"It's a country," I correct. "Surely you've heard of it? Or what about England? Russia? China? Any of Europe?"

With each country I name Ralof looks more and more confused and l grow more and more uneasy.

"I have never heard of any of these places anywhere on Nirn," says Ralof but seeing my anxious expression he then adds, "but Jarl Ulfric is a far greater scholar of the world then myself. He may know... Are you-?"

"Just," I start but stop. "I'm just from some place very, very far away, and I don't know how I got here or why I'm here. Let's leave it at that, okay?"

Ralof nods his head for perhaps the hundredth time today. He seems to understand the confusion I'm feeling right now and decides not to say anything for my sake. We continue on our way in silence while I struggle to figure out what's going on and where I am. I'm not stupid. I've been in third world countries and, though I may not know everything about them, I know for damn sure there aren't any still trapped in the medieval ages where Romans fight Vikings and dragons burn down villages. And even if there is, with how nosy the government is, troops would already be here trying to play hero for the world like we always seem to do. Now the question remains: where the hell am I?

" _Hofkiin..._ "

My head shoots up. I look for the speaker of the voice - as it was far to deep to have been Ralof - but find no one but said Nord at my side. I go to ask him if he heard the voice too when he speaks.

"I'm glad you decided to come with me," says Ralof as what looks like a wall of stone comes into few in the distance. "We're almost to Riverwood."

Ralof picks up the pace and I have to stride a bit to keep up with him, leaving the mysterious voice forgotten for now. We pass under a gate of some sort and enter into the town. Ralof is smiling a smile I know well. He's smiling because he's home.

And I hope someday soon I can smile that same smile too.

* * *

The journey to Riverwood is over! Now Sarvis has made a friend in Ralof and has started to accept the world around him. Too bad Ralof forgot to tell him about a certain furry race and Sarvis is far from getting home.

I hope everyone understands that Sarvis's feelings for the other military branches is not hate (well, it is a bit for the Air Force) but is instead a completely natural competitive feeling of my-branch-is-better-than-your-branch.

Next chapter, Sarvis meets Ralof's sister and decides his next move in this strange world!

Please Review! Corrective criticism is very appreciated!

DCF


	6. Talking About Dragons

Sorry for the long wait! No good excuses so all I can do is apologize!

Please enjoy!

* * *

 **Talking About Dragons**

I look around Riverwood and can't help but to feel as if I'm a part of a chronological error. The buildings around me look as if they belong in the medieval times as do the people in the streets. There's a woman sitting on her house porch, a house made from what looks to be lumber and hay, wearing clothes perfect for a poor woman in a old a Robin Hood movie. She's yelling at a young man in an anxious tone of voice but I miss her words when Ralof speaks to me.

"Looks like nobody knows what's happened yet," he says, finishing his own one-over of the town. He nods his head towards a small but safe looking bridge on our left. "Come on. Gerdur's probably working in her lumber mill."

He heads across the bridge towards the mill and I follow him after one last look at the supposed town. I can hear the old woman on the porch telling the young man about seeing a dragon but he doesn't believe her. Against my own will, I smirk, unable to fight away how funny I found the situation. My lack of focus leads me to run into someone else on the bridge.

"Did I see you talking to Sven?" the guy I nearly ran into asks me and I blink at him. I immediately see something strange about him. His ears are pointed and his eyes are black as night with no difference in color from his pupils. I nearly freak out when I realize he's an elf.

"What's your problem with this Sven guy?" I ask, trying not to stare at his ears.

"He's a bard, so he says," the elf spits out in disgust. "Occasionally he finds time to do his job here at the mill. Think his ballads and sonnets are going to convince Camilla Valerius to marry him. As if she would say 'yes'. An intelligent, beautiful woman like her wouldn't fall for that nonsense... I hope."

I can't stop the chuckle in my throat from escaping. Even in this strange place somethings haven't changed and unsurprisingly women and men are one of them. Shaking my head, I hurry to catch up with Ralof without a second word to the elf. I catch him on the other side of the bridge just as he turns to corner around what looks like a mill. Taking the same corner, I see Ralof hurrying towards a woman I would bet was his sister - if a had a dollar to my name at the moment.

"Gerdur!"

The woman looks up sharply from the table she's leaning on. She turns her head and the moment her eyes fall on Ralof, she's looks genuinely surprised and happy all at once.

"Brother!" she exclaims before hurrying towards him and embracing him in a hug. "Mara's mercy. It's good to see you!"

Gerdur's face suddenly looks worried and she pulls away from Ralof, who is laughing joyfully.

"But is it safe for you to be here?" she immediately asks him. "We heard that Ulfric had been captured..."

"Gerdur, I'm fine," Ralof assures her with a chuckle and a squeeze of her shoulder. "At least now I am."

"Are you hurt? What happened?" Gerdur asks like worried woman would. I can't help but to smile at the typical example of an unexpected reunion. She notices me then and sends Ralof a quizzical look. "And who's this? One of your comrades?"

"Not a comrade yet," says Ralof, smiling back at me, "but a friend. I owe him my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials..."

"Helgen?" Gerdur inquires with a dangerously high eyebrow. She looks back and forth between me and Ralof before adding, "Has something happened?"

Ralof says nothing but simply looks at her as if to repeat his earlier statement.

"You're right," Gerdur sighs, giving in to her brother's silence. She motions to both of us before adding, "Follow me."

As we follow her, she calls down a man she called Hod, who I can only assume is her husband from their bickering, down from the mill, before leading us over to the far end of the small island we're standing on. Hod is still making his way over to us when a boy comes running our way. I can't help but to smile again when the boy nearly tackles Ralof to the ground in a hug.

"Uncle Ralof!" the boy exclaims happily and Ralof laughs as he did. "Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Hush, Frodnar," Gerdur scolds and the boy, no doubt her son, silences immediately. "This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road. Come find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."

I could tell Frodnar is about to complain but Ralof stops him before he can. He convinces the boy easily to do as his mother said and the kid does so happily. It reminds me on how I deal with Joker's kids. I smile at the thought.

Hod joins us as his son runs off and says, "Now Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done in?"

I snort. Thinking about everything Ralof and I have been through in the last few hours, I can't blame Hod for his description of us. Ralof, however sighs.

"I can't remember when I last slept..." he says, closing his eyes after taking a seat on a tree stump. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing. Like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was... two days ago, now. We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman's block and ready to start chopping."

Gerdur growls with anger, a vain in her forehead becoming visible, "The cowards!"

"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trail," Ralof curses. "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then. But then... out of nowhere... a dragon attacked..."

Gerdur gasps, taking a step back from her brother. It's comforting to know I'm not the only one surprised by the news of dragons flying about.

"You don't mean, a real, live..." she starts but stops when Ralof shakes his head in equal disbelief.

"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there," he says. "As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?"

"Nobody else has come up the south road today," says Gerdur before adding for Ralof's benefit, "as far as I know."

"Good," sighs Ralof, standing up. "Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger Gerdur, but..."

"Nonesense," says Gerdur, shaking her head as if she found Ralof's worry childish. "You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials." She then turned to me. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine."

She then offers me a key to her house and offers me some supplies. It surprises me with how easily she trusts me.

"Is there any way I could repay you?" I ask while resisting the urge to devour the loaf of bread she had just given me.

Gerdur shakes her head no, as if my question was ridiculous, but after thinking for a moment she looks back at me.

"There is something you can do for me," she says before continuing, "for all of us here. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless... We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in you debt."

I nod my head, manly because I'm really too tired to say anything. The exhaustion from fleeing for your life from a dragon is finally kicking in. Ralof places a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me wearily.

"Come, my friend," he says while motioning for me to eat as we walk. I do so gladly. "A good night's rest is what we both need and I have a feeling the gods would agree."

I nod my head mutely while devouring the food Gerdur gave me. My adrenaline is all but gone now and in its place is simply exhaustion. It isn't long before I find myself asleep on a fur bedmate in front of a fire.

Hopefully, I'll dream of home because I doubt I'll be there tomorrow when I wake up...

* * *

Sarvis has possibly just finished the hardest day of his life (so far). I do plan on giving him a dream filled sleep but maybe not of his home. After all, Sarvis said it himself, he is suffering from PTSD.

Sorry this chapter was so plain but I had a few things to take care of in it. Next chapter will be more of my own without direct information from Skyrim only!

Next chapter should be on dreams and heading to Whiterun.

Please Review!

DCF


	7. Holds of Skyrim

Sorry for the slow start to Sarvis's tale but do remember he knows nothing about this world and needs a bit of a slow start before his adventures really begin.

Thank you **DragolKoal** and **Dophinsplash12** for your reviews!

* * *

 **The Holds of Skyrim**

My eyes shoot open and for that moment I'm ready to panic. I don't know where I am or what I'm doing here. My breathing is sporadic and I'm sweating not only because of the fire at my side but also because of the hastily retreating dreams in my mind. Images of lost soldiers and bad memories fade away as my mind feeds me the information I need to know.

The foremost thing is that I should be dead but I'm not. The second is that instead of dying and turning into pieces of meat spewed across a battlefield I woke up in a carriage full of rebels who found me unconscious in the wilderness of a place I don't even know. Next is the fact that I nearly died again but failed to when a dragon, a creature up until yesterday I knew only from legends and children stories, burned down the town we were in. Lastly, I escaped said town with a rebel by the name of Ralof and I am currently laying on the floor of his sister's house, which coincidentally looks as if it belongs in a _Lord of the Rings_ movie.

I climb to my feet as quickly and quietly as I can. I can make out the shape of a boy fast asleep in a bed against the far left wall but nothing else before I hurry out of the house. The door closes quietly behind me as I step outside into the crisp night air very thankful I had fallen asleep with my boots still laced so I'm not barefoot.

I lean against the fence by the house fully aware of a familiar sensation running through my veins but I try to fight it. I _will_ _not_ go into shock now, not after all this time of keeping a cool head. I press a cold, clammy hand against my armor covering my heart as pain shoots through me. I feel dizzy, so I slowly lower myself to the ground and try to focus on the moon- only, there's a problem with that.

"Two moon?" I say aloud, announcing my new discovery. It's almost as crazy as when I first saw a dragon.

The two moons light up the sky above me, as if they were taunting me, begging me to try and disbelieve what is right in front of me. I close my eyes to stop myself from looking upon them anymore. My breath is still ragged and I begin opening and closing my fist trying to calm down.

"The moons are called Secunda and Masser," says a voice behind me.

I recognize it as Ralof's and sure enough, when I open my eyes he is squatting in front of me. He reaches out with his hand and squeezes my shoulder with it. He's smiling a reassuring smile but I can't return it. My breathing has become more rapid and shallow. I'm either going into shock or having a panic attack and I have every right to be. Being in a country a few hundred years behind I can deal with, the same goes with people killing each other without trials while using medieval weapons. And at least I know what dragons and elves and magic is even if all my information is from legends and fictional tales. All of this could be true despite how implausible it sounds, but two moons - two _fucking_ moons?

"It's alright, friend," he says softly, helping me lean against the wall of the house. I want to laugh at how sure he sounds. Clearly he hasn't noticed the extra moon in the sky. I feel like I just fell into some fucked up space-time warp right out of a cheesy science fiction show. All I need is a blue police box and I'll be a bad episode of _Doctor Who_. "Just a fever, that's all. I know just what you need."

I don't know where he gets it from, but all of a sudden Ralof has a strange bottle in his hand left hand while his right hand remains on my shoulder, keeping me from falling over. He opens the bottle before slowly pressing it to my lips.

"This will help," he assures me and I'm too weak to protest as he pours the liquid content down my throat.

The taste of spoiled crab legs and dust fill my mouth causing me to gag but Ralof doesn't remove the bottle from my lips until I finish it. When I finally do finish the bottle, he smiles once more at me.

"There," he says with a soft chuckle. "Feel better?"

I nod my head, because I do feel a lot better all of a sudden, still coughing a bit. I haven't forgotten the two moons or all the other madness but I do feel a lot more levelheaded.

"What was that?" I ask with one final cough in attempt to get rid of the foul taste the liquid has left in my mouth.

"A Cure Disease Potion," replies Ralof before he leans his own back against the wall next to me. "It works on fevers as well."

"Right," I say because I don't know what else to say. I can't decide which is weirder, the fact that he just gave me another strange potion or the fact that he mistake my panic-attack for a fever. Either way, I make no attempt to correct him because I have no knowledge in the matter.

Ralof sighs before looking up at the sky.

"Nice night, aye, friend?" he asks me with another smile.

"Yeah," I say in a calmer voice than I thought I could muster. My eyes once again fall on the two moons in the sky. I think only for a minute before asking him the straightest question I can to find my answers.

"Ralof?" I ask. He hums at me. "Where are we?"

"Riverwood of course," chuckles Ralof, patting my knee amicably.

I attempt a smile but persist with my questioning.

"I mean," I say as Ralof's chuckles die down, "are we on Earth?"

Right away Ralof's chuckles cease. He looks at me carefully as if he were trying to figure me out once again like he had back in Helgen.

"We are on ground," he says a bit uneasily. "I don't know what this earth is that you are talking about."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Whatever that potion thing was it real has calmed me down and is helping me keep a calm persona. Listening as I think out my next question closely, I can hear Ralof shifting uncomfortably at my side.

"Where is Riverwood, Ralof?" I ask after a long pause in which I'm sure Ralof had though I had fallen asleep in because he jumped a bit with my words.

"In the Hold of Whiterun," answers Ralof.

"Is that a country?" I ask, my eyes still closed.

"It's a hold," repeats Ralof. I open my eyes to ask him for a longer explanation. He understands and continues. "There are nine Holds in Skyrim: Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, the Pale, Winterhold, the Reach, Whiterun, Eastmarch, Falkreath, and the Rift. Each Hold has a Jarl and each serves the High King of Skyrim."

"Okay," I say, trying to file away some of these holds' names. "And Skyrim is a country?"

"Yes," answers Ralof though he is looking at me as if my question's answer should have been obvious.

"And where is Skyrim?" I ask, ignoring Ralof's questioning look.

"In Tamerial," says Ralof.

"And where is Tamerial?"

"On Nirn."

"And where is that?" I ask but Ralof stops me.

"Nirn is our world," he says passionately. "It is our home. Eight of the Nine Divine created it along with Lorkhan who's sundered corpse is what makes our moons, Secunda and Masser."

"So this planet," I say slowly, "this planet is called Nirn?"

"Nirn is a plane," corrects Ralof. He chuckles uneasily again while asking, "Surely you knew that, friend?"

I nod my head mutely at him. There is nothing I can say really. I'm calm, mostly because of the 'potion' Ralof gave me, as I carefully examine what Ralof has told me. I'm not in a unknown country at all but a totally different planet. The man sitting next to me may not be a man at all but an alien. My theory about _Doctor Who_ seems to be actually plausible at the moment. But how can that be? Everything about this place, save for the _Dungeons and Dragons_ bits, is identical to Earth, even time seems to be the same. And Ralof is speaking English. If this were a different planet, shouldn't he be speaking a different language? And more over, how did I get here? If aliens were involved it would make sense but the people here fought with iron weapons and bows. That isn't very advanced, definitely not when compared to Earth's technology. Did I fall through time and somehow end up in the Dark Ages? No, even if I let the magic and dragons slide that still wouldn't explain the two moons. Maybe-

Ralof pushes himself up off the ground. He stretches a bit and looks up at the moons before looking back down at me.

"It's very late," he says. He offers me a hand to get up and I take it.

"Right," I agree, standing up. "I should get some rest if I plan to make it to Whiterun in the morning before heading for Windhelm."

Ralof's ears pick up at my last comment and he turns back from the door towards me.

"So you will go?" he asks while fighting a grin. "You will join the Stormcloaks?"

I nod my head yes and Ralof's grin finally wins out.

"But first I need to see if this Ulfric guy has some answers to why I'm here," I explain but Ralof doesn't seem to care. He pats my back before leading me back towards the door.

"Perhaps the Gods sent you," he muses still smiling as we head back inside.

I shake my head at him as I lay back down, unable to comment. Gods. He had said it plural again. Well, I highly doubt that these 'gods' sent me here but as I close my eyes to try and get some more sleep I can't help but wonder if a certain old man upstairs had a hand to play in this.

That theory at least certainly sounds more pleasing than the _Doctor Who_ one.

.

When I awake for the second time it is to Ralof's nephew Frodnar nudging my shoulder gingerly with a broom handle. I raise my eyebrow at him and the boy smiles sheepishly in response.

"Ma told me to wake you so you could eat," he says shyly. "But Uncle Ralof says you're a soldier and sometimes when soldiers are woken up-"

"It's alright," I say cutting him off. "Thank you for not poking my eye out with that thing."

The boy smiles widely, as if happy to know I wasn't mad at him for awaking me, before pointing towards the table.

"Ma left you some food on the table," he says happily. "It's not much but there's enough. Uncle Ralof told me to tell you he has a bag made for you for when you leave too."

"That's nice," I say, standing up.

Frodnar nods his head before taking off outside. I smile as he goes, happy to know that wherever I am, children still act the same as they do back home. Stretching, I turn towards the table and begin eating an apple from a bowl. It tastes exactly like apples on earth, which is comforting to know.

When I am finished eating - I had another loaf of bread and some strange cheese - I make my way outside the house. I don't see Ralof so I head towards the mill trying not to draw attention. Apparently that's an impossible task because on my fifth step outside of Gerdur's yard, a young guy approaches me. He's shorter than I am and has dirty blond hair. The way that he carries himself reminds me of a snotty businessman's son and as soon as he starts talking I realize my first impression is accurate.

"You're new here," he states more than asks. "That's good. The names Sven and I have a job for you."

"That's nice kid," I say with a smirk. He obviously doesn't understand I'm not his bitch so I don't care. I move to go around him but he thrusts a letter into my chest.

"Deliver this to Camilla at the Riverwood Trader and say it's from Faendal," he all but orders me. "It's a particularly venomous letter and it will have Camilla thinking twice about inviting the elf over."

"Excuse me?" I ask him, clear danger in my tone. The prick merely smirks at me before hurrying off. I look down at the letter and read it.

 _Dear Camilla, I know I have called upon your house many times, and while we may be growing close, I need you to put any desire you may have for me aside. I am a true-born son of Valenwood, and I could never befoul my bloodline by courting an Imperial. I hope we can remain true friends, provided you understand your people's place in the Aldmeri Dominion, and respect me as such. Sincerely, Faendal._

I read the letter a second time before spitting in disgust. I don't know this Camilla chick is nor do I know what the Aldmeri Dominion is, but I think I met this Faendal guy yesterday and the term Valenwood is vaguely familiar from Ralof's speech yesterday about elves. Either way, this Sven guy has a lot of balls if he thinks I'm going to just help him out. In fact, I'm going to do just the opposite.

I head down the rest of the path towards the mill until I see a hanging sign that reads the Riverwood trader. I head towards it and, after debating for a moment on whether or not I should knock, I walk inside. I immediately question my decision when I walk in on an argument.

"I said no!" the man standing at the counter shouts at a girl across from him in a yellow dress. She's fairly pretty but looks furious. "No adventures, no theatrics, and no thief-chasing!"

The girl crosses her arms and huffs dangerously.

"Well what are you going to do then, huh?" she growls. "Let's hear it!"

I clear my throat and both silence immediately. The man stands up tall and fixes his shirt anxiously while the girl just huffs again, though her cheeks are turning red with blush. Both look surprised to see me.

"May I help you, sir?" the man asks in a forced friendly tone. He clearly isn't in a happy mood, no doubt because of whatever he and the girl were talking about. I try to get straight to the point so I can get out of their hairs.

"I'm looking for Camilla," I say after clearing my throat. I raise the letter in the air. "Special delivery."

"I'm Camilla," says the girl who has now taken a seat by the fireplace. "That's my brother Lucan."

"Right," I say trying hard not to sound too disinterested.

I approach her and offer her the letter. Camilla takes it in her hand with a smile but I don't let it go right away.

"Some prick by the name of Sven wanted me to give it to you and say it was from Faendal," I say before letting the letter go. "You might want to know that before you read it."

Camilla's smile fades a bit.

"What are you talking about? What's in the letter?" she asks before opening the letter up. Her eyes widen as she reads. "Oh my. He... he wanted me to think Faendal wrote this?"

Camilla crumples the letter in her hand looking both furious and sad at the same time. I can see tears forming in her eyes but I can't tell if they're in sorrow or anger.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she says in a stronger voice than I was expecting. Her eyes soften a bit before she adds, "Could you talk to Faendal, as well? I'm sure he'll want to thank you for standing up for him."

I smile at her before nodding.

"No problem, kid," I say before nodding politely to her brother Lucan. I head back out with a cocky smile on my face, pleased knowing that the prick's plan didn't go at all how he had been hoping it would go.

I make my way over to the mill to continue my search for Ralof. It doesn't take me long to find him talking with his sister by the same table Gerdur had been working at the day before. The elf guy is with them, though he doesn't seem to be much talking. Instead he seems to be listening intently to whatever Ralof is saying, though I don't know what he's saying either.

"Ah, there you are, friend," Ralof says when he catches sight of me approaching. I smile at him and his companions who are all smiling as well. "Feeling better?"

"Wonderful," I say and Ralof chuckles merrily. "I think I should be heading out for this Whiterun soon."

"Not without some supplies, your not," says Gerdur. She grabs a leather rucksack from the table and hands me. It weighs about thirty pounds give or take but is small and doesn't look to be even a quarter filled. "There are some supplies in there for your journey. Arrows, bow, a sword, some food, simple things but it will help."

"Right," I say, unable to hide my surprise.

How the hell did she fit all that stuff in this rucksack? I reach inside and retrieve the bow and arrows and I'm completely surprised by the fact that either of them had fit in the bag I the first place. I want to ask how but decide against it on account I don't want the answer to be something like 'magic, of course!' or some bullshit like that. I've had enough panic-attacks to last me a lifetime.

"And here," says Ralof. He hands me a orange purse tied with a string. "It's only a hundred or so gold but it will do you some good in Whiterun. Besides, it's the bag that will come in the most handy, aye, Faendal?"

"Truly," replies the elf with a smile. "It will hold more than enough gold for you, friend."

"Thanks," I say, putting the orange pouch in my rucksack. I have a feeling it's as endless as the bag. I look over at the elf and then remember what Camilla had asked me to do. "Faendal right? Camilla told me you don't need to worry about Sven anymore."

"Really?" he asks surprised. "What for?"

I explain to him and the others what had just happened minutes ago. Faendal is grinning ear to pointed ear when I'm finished and Ralof is laughing again. Gerdur is shaking her head with a smile on her face despite her best attempt to look stern.

"Well," Ralof laughs, patting Faendal's back, "now you have something to look forward to when you return, elf."

Ralof smiles even wider before clearing his throat. He looks at me suddenly.

"Sir," he starts.

"Don't call me sir, kid," I say. "I work for a living. Call me Sarvis."

"Sorry," says Faendal. He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sarvis, I would like to accompany you to Whiterun and in turn to Windhelm. It's time I fight for Skyrim's freedom- if you'll have me join you."

I smile at the elf, putting him at ease.

"Considering I don't know the way to either," I say with a chuckle, "I think I'll be needing to ask if I can join you."

"I told you he wouldn't say no, Faendal," says Gerdur.

Ralof shakes his head at his sister before handing me one last thing. I'm surprised by the sight of gauntlets, you know, those weird gloves knights wear, pressed against me. The look to be made of steal and have strange designs imbedded in them.

"These should help you keep warm and keep a grip on your weapon, aye, friend?" he says as I study the gauntlets in my hands. I can't help but to feel as if they're expensive.

"You've already given me -" I start but Ralof cuts me off.

"Now don't try to give back a gift, friend," chuckles Ralof. "They're good gloves but they've never fit me or Hod for that matter. Put them to good use, aye?"

I nod my head, unable to say anything else on the matter. I pull on the gloves that are strangely light considering they're steal, and make fist with them. They feel like I'm wearing a pair of overly patted batting gloves.

I shift the weight of the bow on my shoulder so that its resting on the right side of my rucksack in which my quiver sticks out. I wave one last time towards Ralof and his sister before heading down the rode with the elf Faendal.

"Shouldn't take long," says Faendal amicably. I smile at him before nodding.

First Whiterun, then Windhelm, and then, just maybe, I can go home...

* * *

Now Sarvis has made some of his first theories to why he's on Nirn and not dead on Earth. Right now, it's either aliens or some higher being's/beings' fault. As the only thing screaming aliens is the two moons while everything else that's weird or abnormal he has some form of familiarity with through stories or children tales, he'll be leaning more towards the latter of the two choices.

Next chapter should consist of the trip to Whiterun and all of Sarvis's stay in Whiterun. It may also include his trip to Windhelm but that will depend on how the chapter flows.

Please review!

DCF


	8. Whiterun

After a long delay, Sarvis is finally making his way to Whiterun with his new pal Faendal! Sorry for the pause in updating but when you muse literally red rings on you writing can get a bit tough.

Nightingale Elite: the AF is most definitely great as are all the military branches. However, as a Marine Sarvis is bias.

Koal: look, I'm alive!

Shinian: I'm glad you like Sarvis not understanding anything about Skyrim. That's the major factor in the story so it's good to know its earning approval

RamenKnight: I'm glad this story has interested you so far. Yes, I will have a different view on the Stormcloaks but nothing that can't actually be true following the game storyline. I'm also really happy to know Sarvis isn't being seen as a Mary Sue or too weak.

Pietersielie: I'm glad you think so! Here's some more!

Disclaimer: I own solely Sarvis, his wit, and his thoughts. Everything else is common knowledge or own by Bethesda.

* * *

 _Whiterun_

"Riverwood is agreeable enough," says Faendal as we make our way towards this city of Whiterun. He then adds "For a Nord village."

He smiles at me with a toothy smile and I smile back at him while shaking my head. From what Ralof said before we left, Whiterun is only a three hour journey from Riverwood on foot and Faendal and I have been walking for only one. I don't mind the fact that it's taking so long. Faendal is interesting to talk to, even if I can't stop staring at his pointy ears and completely black eyes.

"Tell me, Sarvis," Faendal asks me as we make our way down an incline in the road. "Is there something wrong with my ears?"

I feel like a dick for getting caught staring but Faendal seems more amused than anything.

"Sorry," I apologize, fixing my bow on my shoulder. "It's just a new thing to me. There aren't elves where I'm from except for in books and shit."

"And where are you from?" Faendal muses curiously.

I want to stop and think about my answer before I give it to him. I'm not exactly sure what to say to him. Clearly no one on this 'Nirn', or at least no one in this 'Skyrim', seems to know where Earth is let alone America. They don't even seem to understand the concept of planets and instead talk about these planes and shit like the world is a giant math problem.

As I stumble for an answer to the elf's question, Faendal suddenly stops me and points down the path. Three Imperial soldiers are leading what looks like a battle-beaten man down the incline below us.

Faendal and I immediately crouch down behind some rocks. I have a feeling my Stormcloak gear, despite the fact that I'm not a Stormcloak, would be a problem and Faendal seems to be thinking along the same lines.

I peak down at the Imperials just in time to see one knock the bound man down. He begins to mock the fallen man.

"Come on, you Talos worshipping-"

I look to my left when I suddenly hear Faendal drawing his bow back, an arrow ready to fire.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I hiss. Faendal looks at me with a determined glint in his black eyes.

"That man is being transported to his death," whispers Faendal, eyeing his aim up with one of the three Imperials. "His crime, if he truly has any, is that of worshipping Talos. If we don't save him..."

"Can't we cause a distraction?" I ask, my eyes shifting back and forth between the downed man, the Imperials, and Faendal. "We could give him a chance to flee-"

"We either kill the Imperials or the man dies," states Faendal simply, his eyes never leaving his target. "Look at him, Sarvis! He's too weak to flee and if he tried he'd only end up with an arrow in his back. We need to-"

I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the passion in Faendal's voice towards the man's innocence. Maybe it was the fact that I'm relentless and impulsive. Or maybe it was the fact that the Imperial's foot was about to stomp the bound man's face in. Either way, my bow was drawn back and fired before Faendal finished his sentence and the Imperial fell to the ground next to the bound man with an arrow in his neck.

"We're under attack!" The farthest of the two remaining Impericals cries but no sooner has the words left his mouth has Faendal's arrow buries itself into his chest.

I shot a second arrow at his fleeing comrade making him tumble to the ground but he lets out a horrific cry of anguish. Faendal is quick to end it while I approach the bound man.

"Are you alright?" I ask the man, my voice softer than usual as I kneel beside the man.

I place a hand on the man's back and can feel him shaking under it. He's dirty, covered in sweat, and wearing only rags and another one of those cross amulets. His feet are bare and he looks old enough to be my father though I don't know if that has anything to do with how his captors were treating him. He looks up at me carefully, his bearded and ragged face going through a multitude of emotions as he looks me over before settling on one: gratitude.

"Thank you," he cries before burying his head in my chest with a sob.

His action takes me by surprise and damn well nearly result with him having a knife in the back but I stop myself. Faendal hurries over to us and takes a knee while I pat the man awkwardly on the back. I'm not a comforting person.

"Where did they get you, friend?" Faendal asks, offering the man an apple from his bag.

The bound man takes it once I cut his arms free but does not eat it at first and instead answers Faendal's question all the while looking at the apple as if it were God's gift. "I was with Jarl Ulfric," he says slowly. "We were in Helgen when..."

"A dragon attacked," I say for him. The man looks at me in surprise. "I was there too. Nearly had my damn head chopped off too when the dragon arrived. I escaped with Ralof."

"Ralof's alive?" the man asks before smiling happily. "This is great news. Jarl Ulfric will be very pleased!"

"So Jarl Ulfric made it out of Helgen?" asks Faendal.

"Yes," says the man with an excited nod. "I escaped with him along with three others but we were attacked by some surviving Imperials. Myself and a brother stayed behind so he could escape. We could not have our King being killed after surviving a dragon attack. There would be no honor."

"So he left you to die?" I ask dubiously.

"We were outnumbered," defenses the man hotly. "They all but dragged Jarl Ulfric away for he would have gladly fought with any of his men to the death."

"My friend means no offense," says Faendal. "He's not from here."

The man looks me over once more.

"Cyrodiil is not that far from Skyrim," says the man before noticing my tattoo which makes him visibly calm down.

"I'm from somewhere a bit farther than this Cyrodiil, pal," I say standing up. "But you need to eat and rest. Faendal and I need to... hide some bodies."

And we did hide bodies, all three of them, in between a boulder and some red shrubs. Afterwards I approach the Stormcloak and give him some more food as the apple Faendal gave him has been eaten to the core. Faendal gives him some spare clothes, a pair of worn shoes, and a dagger that the man takes while saying thank you perhaps a thousand times. He tells us he's going to rest before heading for Windhelm and on those words, we part from him. It isn't until Faendal and I are drawing near a large city surrounded by a very sturdy wall - no seriously, it looks like fucking Masada - I realize we never got the Stormcloak's name.

"That's okay," says Faendal as we pass through a second archway to the city's doors. This one has a medieval drawbridge. "We did are part."

"Fair enough," I reply distantly, distracted by the stone structures around me. I snap into attention when a man in armor similar to mine except yellow approaches us. He's wearing a full helmet, which is hiding his face, and is carrying a steel sword and a shield with what looks like a ram on it. It only serves as a reminder to how out of time and place I feel.

"Halt," he orders, raising his hand in a stopping gesture. "Cities closed with dragons about. Official business only."

"Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid," says Faendal fluently.

"Riverwood's in danger too?" asks the guard. He curses incoherently under his breath. "You two better go on in. You'll find the Jarl at Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill."

Faendal nods for us.

"Thank you," he says before pulling me towards the gate door. The guard eyes me suspiciously.

"We'll be keeping a close watch you," he says while looking directly at me through his helmet. I quirk an eyebrow up at him but don't fight Faendal as he hurries me inside the city of Whiterun.

I nearly stop dead in my tracks once we're inside.

"Something wrong?" Faendal asks me when he sees my eyes racking over every detail of the medieval city.

I shake my head, saying, "I feel like someone just threw me inside a Lord of the Rings movie, that's all."

Faendal looks at me curiously as he leads us down a road to what looks like a marketplace filled with stalls of every kind. One particular stall has a lot of meat on it and as we pass it I can tell just how fresh it all is with one sniff.

"What's a movie?" Faendal asks me as we make our way up a set of stairs.

"I'll tell you later," I reply absentmindedly once we reach the nicer section of the city. The houses here look as if they were built more for style than simply necessity and the center of the place has a giant tree. To the right, up more stairs is a long hall that looks like someone flipped a great Viking ship flipped upside down and added doors, but in front of me and pass the tree is a grand looking structure. It rests at the top of a hill and looks like a small castle built of wood.

"That's Dragonsreach," explains Faendal, pointing to said wooden castle. Now that I think about it, it looks more like a fancy, wooden church and bell tower.

We make our way to the long staircase leading to this Dragonsreach. At the foot of it, to its right and tucked into the corner between the stairs leading to Dragonsreach and the stairs leading to the upside down Viking ship, is a large statue.

It's a statue of a man wearing some kind of chainmail and a long cloak. On his head is a helmet with long ears reminding me of Faendal despite it being clear that the figure is not an elf, and his chin has a strong but short beard. He bears a sword in both his hands, which he seems to be about to thrust into a snake like creature of some kind that lays beneath his feet. All and all, he reminds me of two of the many saints figurines my mother kept around our house while I was growing up: Saint George the Dragon Slayer and Saint Michael the Archangel.

I stare a little while longer at the strangely familiar statue before catching up to Faendal on the stairs leading to this Dragonsreach. He doesn't seem to have notice I had delayed because of curiosity.

We reach the top of the long staircase easily enough, though I am more than surprised by the beauty in what I had thought to be a simple medieval looking city, especially the pools of water that seem to flow throughout the whole town due to some kind of irrigation system. From the top of the hill especially, the city looks beautiful.

"I've never been inside before," muses Faendal, bringing my attention back to the massive doors in front of us.

"Me either," I add with a cheeky smile leading to Faendal laughing. His laughter reminds me of Joker, sending a shot of guilt down my veins. My smile fades as I realize just how badly I want to get home but Faendal doesn't see it as he's preoccupied opening the grand door.

I'm greeted by a massive room with a ceiling at least two stories high held up by immense pillars that ark the roof. My earlier view on Dragonsreach looking like church only changes slightly. Now I'm convinced that Dragonsreach is built like a cathedral.

Of course, instead of small bowls with holy water on the side there are large caged pits of fire, feast tables instead of pews, and a surprisingly modest looking throne instead of an altar. And then there is the fire burning in between the two tables that everyone else seems to find as common as a rug in the center of floor.

"I only council caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these."

"What would you have me do then? Nothing?"

I couldn't help but feel as if I'm walking in on an important meeting as Faendal and I slowly made our way up the last few steps of the grand room (dining room, feast room, throne room? I'm not quite sure). A man lounging on the throne looks like a bored Viking king. His hair is a flowing yellow like straw as is his beard and as I move closer to the throne and pass the fire I realize the look of boredom on his middle aged face is not the look of boredom at all but of annoyance towards the slowly balding man on his right.

"My lord, please," says the blading man. He too seems to have a strain in his voice leaning towards annoyance. "This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more action before we act. I just –"

At that moment the lord, who I can only assume is the Jarl Balgruuf Ralof told me to talk to, looks up at me and Faendal. A look of curiosity graces his face for perhaps a fraction of a second before sharing with a look of suspicion.

"Who's this, then?" he asks, his voice rough and gruff sounding as he watches me and Faendal with scrupulous, though still curious, eyes.

"We come from Riverwood, Jarl Balgruuf," says Faendal just as a woman – who I really should have noticed considering she is not only an elf in leather armor but a red headed elf with skin a dark grey and an interesting tattoo on her cheek – took a defensive step towards the space between us and this Balgruuf guy. "It's in danger."

"Is that so?" Balgruuf asks, sitting up in his throne, the curiosity I had seen earlier in his eyes returning to its original amount once more. "Please, enlighten me."

"My jarl," says the she-elf, eyeing me and Faendal suspiciously while sending Balgruuf a questioning look.

"It's all right, Irileth," sooths Balgruuf, his lips nearly lifting towards a smile. "I want to hear what they have to say."

Balgruuf's curious eyes then go from the untrusting she-elf to me. He seems to be looking more directly at my clothing, or rather the deceased Gunjar's Stormcloak gear.

"What's this about Riverwood being in danger?"

With his eyes never leaving me, I realize that this man is expecting me to answer and not Faendal so I do.

"I saw a dragon destroy Helgen," I say, trying not to sound foolish despite feeling so whenever I talk about dragons or anything on this 'Nirn' really. "Gerdur is afraid Riverwood is next."

"Gerdur?" repeats Balgruuf, running his hand through his beard. I can't help but feel like I'm missing something when he and Irileth share a look before he continues, "Owns the lumber mill, if I'm not mistaken… Pillar of the community…"

His words seem to have Irileth fighting a smirk while his balding advisor humphs to himself. Balgruuf then straightens a bit more in his chair before looking even more scrupulously at me.

"And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon?" he asks, doubt laced in his words. "This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"

Faendal immediately looks on the defensive when Balgruuf eyes my gear once more with now clear distrust. I don't blame the elf, seeing as to how I feel just as annoyed with Balgruuf's clear prejudice to a group of people I don't even know.

"Yes, I'm sure," I say, letting a wave of sarcasm and annoyance lace my own voice. "I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head."

Balgruuf's eyes widen ever so slightly while his advisor drops his jaw open in surprise. Irileth the elf tightens he grip on the sword attached at her waist. All and all, their reactions lead to a small smirk gracing my lips. Joker would be proud.

"Really?" says Balgruuf, recomposing himself immediately. "You're certainly… forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen."

"A dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw it was heading this way."

"By Ysmir," Balgruuf curses, and I can only assume this Ysmir is _another_ one of these people's gods. "Irileth was right!" He looks pointedly at his advisor before adding, "What do you say now Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength in our walls? Against a dragon?"

Balgruuf sends his advisor – whom I can only assume is this Proventus fellow – a nearly accusing look before his attention is drawn by Irileth.

"My lord," starts the she-elf, "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger. If the dragon is lurking in the mountains -"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus bemoans before Irileth could say more. "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not -"

"Enough!" snaps Balgruuf suddenly, his voice so firm it reminds me of Colonel Perkins back at base. If ever there was an officer not to question or upset, it was him and by the fierce look n Balgruuf's eyes I feel confident in saying that the two of them were made from the same mold. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!"

 _Most definitely the same mold_ , I add in thought. Perkins was always so passionate about keeping his men safe. It's the main reason why he's one of the few officers that have my upmost respect. Right now that same respect is building towards this Balgruuf guy.

"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

Irileth bows her head respectfully why responding, "Yes, my Jarl."

The she-elf then moves away from the throne just as Proventus shifts in his stance in a way I'm all too familiar with thanks to dealing with subordinates. He's not satisfied with the decision but he's not going to argue.

"If you'll excuse me," he says coolly, "I'll return to my duties."

Balgruuf deflates a little from his passionate high, taking on an almost apologetic – though not quite – tone. "That would be best."

And as Proventus leaves with only a crisp bow, Balgruuf's eyes – once again curious – fall on me.

"Well done," he says, rising to his feet. We're roughly the same height, though I may have an inch or so on the man but I can't exactly tell at the moment. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it.

"Here, take this as a small token of my esteem," Balgruuf says before handing me a familiar orange pouch. I take it only to hand it to Faendal, who in return says nothing.

"Guess we'll be going then," I say while clapping my hands together, trying not to feel awkward about this situation. Was I just paid for delivering a message like some medieval courtier? That's a new moment of strange. "Have a good night, Mister – " Faendal gives me a pointed look "– err, Jarl Balgruuf… sir."

I groan internally at myself, realizing that I sounded just as ridiculous as I had the first time I met Rebecca's dad and had been too nervous to even speak correctly. Fuck this medieval lordship crap. I move to leave but stop when I see that Faendal is still standing there with his head bowed towards Balgruuf who in turn is still looking at me with his curious eyes.

"You are not from here, are you Imperial," he states rather than asks, but he sounds more amused than anything.

"No, sir," I say, turning back around to face him as it would seem our conversation is not quite over. "And please don't call me an Imperial. I'm American."

Balgruuf's lips twitch upwards once again.

"Is it proper for people where you are from not to show respect to Jarls, American?" he asks without malice and with a hint of a chuckle. I go to correct him but he continues on with, "American, tell me, is it true that Ulfric was at Helgen when it was destroyed?"

"It's true," I say before adding, "he had just been captured in an ambushed from what I understand and was just as destined for the chopping block as I was before the dragon attacked."

"You mean," Balgruuf starts slowly, "you don't even know how your noble leader was captured? Were you not there?"

I can't help but to notice the sharpness in Balgruuf's tone when he describes Ulfric but I choose to ignore it when I answer with,

"He's not my leader," I say, earning two sets of wide eyes – both Balgruuf and Faendal – to look at me.

"Then why were you with him at Helgen?" Balgruuf asks.

"This Ulfric fellow found me in the woods unconscious," I say in response. "He had his men take care of me and by misfortune it led to the Imperials thinking I was one of them. When the dragon attack Ulfric's men, his Stormcloaks, helped me escape with my life but I'm not one of them."

I then look at Faendal with a smirk before adding,

"Not yet."


	9. Bannered Mare

Perhaps I should start putting this warning before every chapter. If anyone thinks so please let me know or else I'll just put it when I think Sarvis is being overly Sarvis like.

WARNING: Due to my attempts at a more realistic Dragonborn coming from our world and the fact that his fic is written in 1st person and therefore are Sarvis's thoughts some of his words may come across as prejudice or extremely bias because THEY ARE. Sarvis simply doesn't see it that way so my apologies before hand if he seems to be hating on any select groups of people.

Thank you **Pietersielie** and **DragonKoal** for the reviews! **Pietersielie** I hope the beginning of this chapter will lighten your disapproval on Sarvis's choice.

And now without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

 **Bannered Mare**

I am rash. I do things primarily on instinct and deal with whatever the repercussions are later. There's no need to beat around the bush about it. It's the truth and no amount of denying it will change that fact about myself.

However, I am not about to admit that to Faendal, especially not with how God damn pleased he looks knowing that I'm on his side - the Stormcloaks side. I'm not, not really anyways. Sure, from between what he and Ralof have told me these Stormcloaks and this Ulfric fellow are fighting some holy war against some assholes that almost indefinitely separated my head from my neck, and I most definitely favor them over said assholes, but my main priority is getting home to Selena and my father. I don't need another war when I have a perfectly gruesome one waiting back home.

Wherever the hell that is.

Sighing through my nose in frustration, I follow Faendal down the grand stairs back into Whiterun. The elf - Jesus, that's so fucking weird to say - is humming some strange tune to himself with a smile on his lips.

If only he was one of my troops then I wouldn't feel so bad about admitting my rash action to him. Civilians are so much harder to deal with than fellow soldiers. Their so much more touchy than us Marines.

"Nearly sunset," Faendal remarks as we near the end of the stairs.

From the corner of my eye I can see what I assume is a man in a brown monk robe standing in front of the strange statue from before. He's yelling some kind of nonsense but I can't understand him from this distance. Faendal pointedly ignores the monk by talking over him.

"I figure we can stay in the Bannered Mare," he says, pointing calmly over to a larger looking... hut? I suppose building works just as well. Anyway, he points at a building to the left of the well in the center of the market.

"We have enough septims for a home cooked meal as well," Faendal adds, smiling a toothy grin as he jingles our newly acquired orange bag. His comical expression has me smiling back with equal mirth just as we reach the bottom step.

"- the true god of man! Ascended from flesh, to rule the realm of spirit!"

I freeze mid step, my head snapping so fast to the left where the robed man stands that I hear it creak. Instantly the man had my attention. Though a bit odd, his words were clearly on a topic I knew very well.

"Who is this guy?" I ask as the man continues on in his preaching about God. To be honest it's a bit like what I expect from a racist Baptist preacher to sound like during the civil rights movement with how he's talking about elves. But still, he's talking about Jesus and heaven and no one else so far has done the same since I arrived in this strange place called Nirn.

"Today,they take away your faith," he persists, still focusing on the elves. "But what of tomorrow? Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very lives?"

"It's just Heimskr," says Faendal dismissively. "He's what you would call the town zealot."

I snort in agreement. Definitely a Baptist.

"And what does the Empire do?" this Heimskr carries on enthusiastically despite the lack of any real listeners. "Nothing! Nay, worse than nothing! The Imperial machine enforces the will of the Thalmor! Against its own people! So rise up! Rise up, children of the Empire! Rise up, Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man and Divine!"

"Son of a-" I curse under my breath. If the connection between Jesus and this Talos fellow isn't obvious enough I don't know what the hell is. But could it honestly just be a name difference?

Not giving myself - or Faendal - time to decide against me doing yet another rash move today, I approach Heimskr mid rant of how we shall inherit both the heavens (again with the unnecessary plural, what the hell?) and the earth.

Immediately Heimskr's eyes fall on me - more specifically my armor - and he grins triumphantly at me.

"You have come!" he all but sings as I approach. "You have come to hear the word of Talos!"

I can hear Faendal groan behind me causing me to smirk. Somethings simply don't change.

"Tell me all you know about this Talos fellow," I demand rather ask unintentionally. Heimskr takes no offense however, and instead grins an even wider grin.

"Hello, my friend!" he says excitedly. "If you seek knowledge about mighty Talos, you have most certainly come to the right person." Gesturing behind him Heimskr points to the grand statue of the man and continues. "In mortal life, Talos was a Nord possessed of unmatched tactical skill, limitless wisdom and the power to see into men's hearts. Talos mastered the power of the Voice, and with it he united the lands of men into a great Empire. In southern lands, he was known by the name Tiber Septim. Here in Skyrim, we honor him by his proper Nord name. So great was his reign in life, when he ascended to the heavens he was made lord of the Divines. If you want to know more, I'm sure you can find any number of tomes on the subject."

Nodding my head as I usually do to tell people I still listening I can't help but to mentally note the similarities between Jesus and this Talos. If anything this Talos was sounding more and more like a warrior Jesus. I also can't help but to grow curious about this super power called the Voice but that can be dealt with later.

"So why is he outlawed?" I ask, trying my best to sound as if I'm simply testing Heimskr's knowledge and not trying to gain information. Heimskr seems to buy it anyways as once more he falls into a tangent.

"Because the so-called Emperor is a coward! That's right, I said coward! Oh yes! He agreed to banish the worship of Talos at the tip of an Aldmeri sword. They called it the 'White-Gold Concordat.' Well, I call it blasphemy! A true son of the Empire would never have turned his back on our greatest hero, not at any price. Well, let me tell you something, friend. Cyrodiil is a long way from here, and in Skyrim, we will never forsake mighty Talos!"

I try to process everything Heimskr has just says but I struggle. Religion isn't my strong suit but I know there's far too many connections between Christianity and whatever religion is practiced in Skyrim for even me to miss it.

Faendal clears his throat behind me, bringing me back from my musing. I turn to face him and find the elf looking out of place and it doesn't take long for me to realize why. Heimskr suddenly a lot less friendly and God loving. He simply looks like a racist bastard with the sneer on his face directed solely for Faendal.

"You said the Bannered Mare?" I ask to break the tension and to let Faendal know I'm ready to move on.

"Yeah," says Faendal, finally looking away from Heimskr's rude glare. "It's down the way."

"Then let's go," I say, purposely not looking back towards Heimskr. Moving forward, I can hear rather than see Faendal follow me down the rest of the way. I look over my shoulder to apologize for the awkward situation once we reach a safe enough distance only to run into someone due to my carelessness.

Instinctively I catch myself and with just as much agility steady my unfortunate bump victim. It's a woman.

"Sorry, ma'am," I say, releasing the woman as soon as she caught her footing. "I should have been paying more attention."

"Yes, you should have," the woman huffs before wincing. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"It's alright," I say, raising my hands to show I didn't take any offense.

The woman smiles graciously, pleased to know I hadn't been bothered by her small outburst, before noticing Faendal. I watch as her small smile grows and Faendal returns one of his own.

"Good evening, Carlotta," says Faendal amicably.

"If you say so," Carlotta sighs but her smile never wavers. Faendal's however does.

"Is he still persisting?" Faendal asks and Carlotta lets out a chuckling huff of annoyance.

Needing to fill my curiosity I ask, "Someone giving you trouble?"

Carlotta looks at me with a quirked brow. I think she's surprised by my concern as I am still a stranger after all despite our shared friendship with Faendal.

"Carlotta, this is my companion and future brother in arms, Sarvis," says Faendal, introducing me so warmly that I can't stop the sudden guilt from reappearing in my gut. Damn rashness.

"Nice to meet you ma'am," I say, offering my hand. Apparently handshakes aren't very common in Skyrim, at least not between man and woman that is, for Carlotta stares at my outstretched hand curiously. Luckily she doesn't find the action offensive so I clear my throat and repeat my earlier question.

"The bard Mikael is begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me," answers Carlotta. I'm surprised to see her let Faendal squeeze her shoulder sympathetically. Hadn't she just been defensive of me simply bumping in to her? "I heard him boasting in the Bannered Mare, saying he'll 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.' Hmph."

"Do you want us to talk to him?" I offer.

Carlotta scuffed in response, "Faendal tried only last week. He stopped for about half a day before returning to his boast."

Now it's my turn to smirk.

"Oh, I can be pretty persuasive," I jest, before motioning for Faendal to follow me. He bids Carlotta a soft goodbye before joining me on my way to the Bannered Mare.

"Mikael isn't going to want to listen to what you say, Sarvis," Faendal says as we reach the entrance of the Bannered Mare. "He's as stubborn as an ass."

"What a coincidence," I say with a wide grin, "so am I."

Pulling the doors open, Faendal and I enter the tavern. Like Dragonsreach, its main source of light is a grand fire in the center of the room. Surrounding the fire are benches were a few patrons are seated save for the red head woman dressed in full plate mail straight out of D&D sitting alone in the corner. To the right is a bar lined with stools. The bartender is a tired woman that greets us as we enter.

"That's him," says Faendal, discreetly pointing to a blonde hair, boyish looking man leaning on a pillar a little ways from the fire. To make the fact that he is the bard we're looking for anymore obvious, Mikael even has a guitar or lute of some kind in his hands being lazily strung.

"Jesus, is this kid even out of diapers?" I ask, unimpressed by the supposed man that had been giving Faendal's friend such a hard time.

"His what?" inquires Faendal. I choose to ignore it in favor of approaching the man-boy.

Up close Mikael looks even more like a ponce.

"If it's a lady you're looking for, you'd best look elsewhere," Mikael boasts when he notices my approach. "Once Mikael gets them, they're got."

So he's an arrogant ponce.

"Look pal," I start, dragging out my words in a way to force my annoyance to be noticed. "You need to leave Carlotta alone."

Mikael simply huffs in response, as if my words were empty.

"Carlotta put you up to this, didn't she?" he asks more than says. He then notices Faendal a few paces away and sneers. "I'm sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet."

"She's not property, Mikael," hisses Faendal. I'll admit, the amount of venom in his voice took me a bit by surprise.

Mikael, however, clearly isn't smart enough to hear the dangerous tone in Faendal's voice.

"What did you just say?" he mocks, stepping towards Faendal dangerously and in the corner of my eye I can see some of the patrons begin to eye Faendal uneasily. "All I heard was the sound of jealousy."

Grabbing Mikael by the collar of his shirt, I pull him roughly away from Faendal before forcing him to look at me.

"Listen, punk," I spit, feeling as if I was channeling a bit of Gunny through me with the glare of death I was sending down at Mikael. "You're going to leave her alone, or you're going to have to deal with me. Got it?"

Mikael rips his collar from my grasp before sending me a look I know all too well thanks to one too many bar fights Joker caused me to get involved in.

"I don't have to take that from you!" Mikael snares before taking barely a half second to throw a punch at my face.

I catch his fist with my own, twist his arm at an awkward angle, spin him around so that I could press his arm painfully into his back before I ram him against the same pillar only seconds ago he had been leaning on. Mikael let out an unattractive whimper when his cheek scrapped harshly against the wooden beam only just stopping himself from receiving a broken nose on impact.

"Now listen here, pal," I growl, using my free hand to turn Mikael's neck so that despite his chest being flat against the pillar he's still looking at me. He let's out another whimper in pain at the unnatural angle it puts his neck in.

"This is me asking you nicely," I continue. "And really hate asking nicely, almost as much as I hate repeating, so listen hard and listen good. Carlotta does not want your affections and you will do your very best to remember that or I will personally re-enlighten you, understood?"

A third whimper is released.

"Good," I say cheerfully. "Now I'm going to let you go and you're going to do a few things for me, alright? First you're going to apologize for causing such a commotion, then you're going to apologize to my good buddy Faendal for being so rude, and then you're going to tell me what's the best drink to get here. Got it?"

Mikael nods his head, clearly biting back a fourth embarrassing whimper. I release him with a smirk on my face before backing away. Immediately Mikael is clutching his arm moaning bitterly to himself. Faendal looks caught between laughing and praising God for the sight he just witnessed, and the other patrons, well, they all seem to be caught between staring at me or at Mikael.

"My... apologies," says Mikael with every ounce of loathing I expected to hear from him as he still holds his arm gingerly, "for causing such a commotion." He then looks at Faendal with a look of complete and utter loathing. "And for being so rude to you. I would recommend to your friend that he try the Honningbrew Mead. It's Hulda's finest."

I can't stop myself from saying the most Joker worthy thing in response.

"Well, I guess we'll have Hulda's finest," I say cheekily and this time Faendal allows himself to let out a small snort of laughter he immediately covers with a cough.

"I'll just go tell Carlotta the good news," he coughs, trying still to hide his amusement. He hands me the Orange bag that until this time has been tied to his waist. "Hulda will help you with renting us a room and buying food."

I nod in response before giving Mikael a victorious wink and heading towards the bar as if nothing had happened seconds earlier. The front door to the Bannered Mare opens and closes - no doubt due to Faendal exiting - by the time I take my seat in front of the bartender.

"Evening ma'am," I say, adjusting my position on the stool.

"Evening," replies the bartender, clearly fighting back an amused smile. "So you want two of my best bottles of mead?"

"If you would be so kind, as well as two bowls of whatever food you have to offer and a room."

Continuing to smile fondly, the bartender, Hulda, hands me two orange bottles from under the bar before moving over to the pot steaming by the fire. Popping out the cork in the first bottle, I take a small sniff of the supposed mead before glancing around.

Mikael has his lute back in his hands, which I had only mildly noticed knocking out of his hands during our tussle, and was back to strumming the thing. The majority of the patrons had return to whatever meaningless action they had been doing before Faendal and my entrance, though a few were glancing my direction. I flashing my teeth in an arrogant smile, I bring my bottle to my lips just as Faendal returns.

"Carlotta asked me to kiss you in gratitude for her," Faendal says sitting down just as Hulda puts down two bowls of steaming soup in front of us.

"I think I'll pass," I smirk before finally taking a swig from my bottle. I'm satisfied to find that at least alcohol is the same in Skyrim despite the clear uniqueness in this meads taste.

Faendal chuckles before taking his own swig of mead.

"I'm glad," he says, whipping his lips. He looks at the still smiling Hulda. "Has my friend paid you yet, Hulda?"

"He has yet to even give me his name," answers Hulda though she doesn't sound the least bit offended and leaves us once Faendal hands her some gold.

"So is it custom here to give your name upon meeting someone?" I ask before taking another swig of my mead. It's surprisingly a lot better to some of the shit back home. Definitely beats Bud Light.

"Is it not where you're from?" counters Faendal, picking up the wooden spoon in his bowl before beginning to eat.

"Not unless you want to get to know them better," I answer honestly. "There isn't enough time in this life to get to know everyone."

"In Skyrim, that's exactly why you try to get to know everyone," muses Faendal after his first mouthful of soup. I can only assume it's good by the pleased look on his face and the fact that he takes three more bites before speaking again. "With such little time - you know, with the civil war, the Thalmor, and know dragons - you never know what day will be your last. Why not make every moment count?"

"By getting to know everyone?" I ask dubiously.

"You never know what that person might be to you until you talk to them," replies Faendal with a shrug before continuing peacefully with his meal.

"Well aren't you a romantic," I tease, taking my own spoonful of soup. It tastes of potatoes and salt but is otherwise delicious.

"It's not just about finding love," Faendal says between another mouthful. "People can surprise you with what they know. Talking to a stranger for five minutes can make you five times more knowledgeable than you were those five minutes earlier."

"That's... one way to look at it," I say, unable to see flaw in Faendal's reasoning. "Is that why you and Carlotta are so friendly?"

"That," says Faendal, "and I knew her husband before his passing many winters ago. We used to hunt together back in Riverwood when Mila was just a babe."

"Mila?"

"Carlotta's daughter and pride and joy," Faendal says, answering my unasked question. "The lass is also why Carlotta is so determined not to have a man in her life."

"She seems rather fond of you," I pitch but Faendal shakes his head no.

"Carlotta heart belongs to her daughter and deceased husband," he states, lifting his bottle of mead. He then smiles softly at me. "And my heart belongs to another waiting in Riverwood."

I smirk knowingly over my food. So this place is a bit medieval but at least some things haven't changed. I might not know where I am right now but that will change once we reach Windhelm. There I'll be a step closer to getting home and more importantly a step closer to seeing my baby girl again.

And I'm sure Selena will love the new bedtime stories.

* * *

And there we have another update simply giving Sarvis another view of how people in Skyrim think and hinting at some elephants in the room *cough cough* Elf treatment *cough cough*

Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter, where you would like to see Sarvis's adventure head, and any opinions or corrections you have on anything. I can handle it. I'm a big girl.

Until next update! To Windhelm!

DCF


	10. Windhelm

I'm alive, well, and still updating. I should also be updating more frequently as well.  
A/N: The beginning of this chapter is written in that of a dream state of mind. It will jump at what might seem like random moments and to things that have, will, and might happen because it is doing exactly that.  
WARNING: the usual cursing and bias opinion, as well as drug abuse mentioning.  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but Sarvis and his sassy, sarcastic attitude

* * *

 _ **Windhelm**_

 _"Daddy," whispers Selena, poking my face. "You awake, daddy?"_

 _I let out a loud, mock snore making Selena giggle. Despite just getting home only three hours ago I don't have the heart in me to tell her to let me sleep._

 _"Daddy," Selena whispers louder. I wait until she pokes my face before grabbing her and burying her in a hug all the while she squealed cheerfully._

 _"Daddy! St-stop!" Selena screams between giggles as I tickle the little munchkin in her princess pajamas._

 _"Never!" I shout between my own chuckles as Selena squirms away from my merciless attack._

 _"Gr-grandpa!" Selena_ pleas _, begging for my old man's help. It would almost sound sincere if she wasn't laughing so hard. "Help me, grandpa!"_

 _"I'm coming, Princess!" I hear my father call with a chuckle of his own from down the hall._

 _I look to the door, expecting to see him but instead it's Joker._

 _"Ready, Flatliner?" Joker asks cheekily, adjusting his kevlar and rifle strap._

 _"HUMVs already here?" I joke, standing up from my makeshift chair, heading towards the tent entrance where Joker is standing. "Only took them three hours."_

 _"Yeah, well," smirks Joker, "that's the Army for you."_

 _I punch at his arm only to hit_ Ralof _instead._

 _"You're an ass, you know that?" I say to the blonde, wiping the sweat from under my helmet with the back of my hand. I try not to think about the blood splatter covering mine and Ralof's armor from the battle only minutes ago._

 _Ralof, panting only slightly, sends me a warm smile._

 _"You know, I'm pretty sure I killed more Imperials than you," he says cheekily and I let out a loud guffaw._

 _It quickly becomes a bitter snort._

 _"You think it's funny?" screams Becca. She lifts up her sleeves and forces her needle pricked arms into my face. "You think this is funny, Noah?"_

 _"Oh, it's fucking hilarious," I spit sarcastically, pushing her arms out of my face before punching the wall. "Damn it, Becca! I can't help you if you don't let me! You haven't even told me why you -"_

 _"Why?" barks Becca, giving zero fucks about the fact that we're in my father's house and Selena is only upstairs asleep. "Why do you think?"_

 _"I don't fucking know, God damn it!" I bark right back, my own temper rising._

 _But if there was one thing Becca was always better at, it was shouting._

 _"I didn't want to be tied down at nineteen! I don't want to be a soldier's wife! And I sure as hell don't want to be a moth-"_

 _"SHUT UP!" I howl._

 _My eyes glare daggers into the laughing figure in front of me, mocking me. I don't know who he is behind his mask of bone but never before have I felt this strong amount of hatred for someone in my entire life._

 _"It's a pity your Voice isn't as powerful as your emotions," he sneers._

 _"Let's test that," I growl before charging._

 _Immediately I'm grasping my head before falling_ _to_ _my knees in the abandoned section of the castle._

 _"Where's the fun without a bit of madness?" asks the demon with a grand cackle. But something about his voice, it's..._

 _"Where mommy?" asks Selena, snuggling against my side on the couch as the old man and I watch a football game. I don't answer her. I don't know how._

 _I close my_ eyes _and take a deep breath. When I open them I'm not in the living room anymore but in a grand cavern. Light shines in from the cracks in the stone above, giving the room an eerie but majestic look. A wall is in front of me covered in a type of calligraphy that I find oddly familiar yet completely unrecognizable. The wall is... Talking, chanting even. I move closer._

 _"Fin_ _vod ahrk fin bo los gein_ _, Dovahkiin..."_

 _The voice shakes my very core. It is a roar and a whisper, a shout and a hum. It sends a righteous amount of fear through my veins and I look up to see the being - for no man could possess such a power in their very words - hovering above me. And for the most_ _part_ _, I am right for the being in front of me_ _bears_ _two faces: one of a dragon and another of an ageless man, both a solid gold. Both faces face away from me and the being holds an hourglass that is neither more empty nor more half full._

 _To the right of the being and on the side of the dragon's face is the man from the statue, the great Talos. He is a legend of a man, with armor shining in an almost unnatural glow that surrounds him. Looking upon him fills me with a strange sense of loyalty and honor. This is a man I would follow into hell and back if he were only to ask._

 _On the left of the_ _two-headed figure, the side of the face of a man,_ _is dragon magnificent in size and grand in the color of his scales. But is not the beauty of the dragon that catches my eye but the man glowing on the inside of the creatures chest. He is young but I can't say as to why I know this for his features are blurred by his dragon covering._

 _"Who are you?" I wonder, my voice barely above an_ _awe-filled_ _whisper._

"Faendal."

I jerk awake just as the wagon dips into yet another rut in the road. Immediately I'm awake as a gust of merciless wind whips my face. Fighting away a very unmanly shiver, I look across the wagon at a cheerful looking Faendal.

"What?" I ask when the elf - still not comfortable with that term - doesn't look away.

"You asked who I was," Faendal explains simply. "So I answered you."

I let out a long breath of air, shaking my head as my dream slowly fades away. Looking around as our wagon hits another rut, I find myself staring at an endless amount of snow. This time, I can't fight away my shiver.

"We're nearly to Windhelm," says Faendal conversationally. "If it wasn't snowing so hard I'm sure you would be able to see it from here."

He points ahead of the wagon but in truth, all I can see is a grayish blur buried by a seemingly endless snow flurry.

"Is there anything else I should know about Windhelm before we get there?" I ask, pulling the fur pelt Faendal had given me at the beginning of the journey tighter around my shoulders. How the bastard can sit across from me in plain clothes - well, plan for this place that is - is beyond me. Maybe it's because he's an elf.

Then again, the carriage driver is wearing even less than Faendal and he's as human as I am.

At long last we stop near a stone stable. Faendal immediately jumps out of the wagon and starts heading towards a long bridge that's seems endless due to the heavily falling snow. I, however, hesitate at the sight in front of me.

"Hey, bud?" I say, calling for Faendal's attention as three figures have stolen mine.

As Faendal turns to me with a cheerful but curious look, I lower myself out of the carriage and onto the crunchy snow.

"You can see the walking cats too, right?" I ask slowly. Already I'm back to questioning my own sanity only this time, instead of dragons, cat-people are the culprit.

Following my gaze, Faendal looks at the cat-people for half a second before raising an eyebrow at me.

"Khajiit?"

"Gesundheit," I reply automatically.

"What?" asks Faendal before shaking his head. He lets out a chuckle. "No matter. Ralof told me that where you hail from that pointed ears are only known through children's tales. I assume Khajiit are the same?"

"No, furry people don't even reach that level of renown where I'm from," I answer distractedly. One of these Khajiit has a giant sword strapped to his back and is wear the armor of a knight. This is some Bigfoot shit right here. "Unless we're talking about werewolves, but they're a bit less... feline."

Faendal laughs heartedly before motioning for me to join him on the bridge. I do so only after reluctantly tucking the fur pelt on my shoulders into my bigger-on-the-fucking-inside bag.

"Then at least our werewolves are the same," chuckles Faendal as we make our way across the old stone bridge. I can't really tell if he's kidding or not. "Khajiit hail from Elsweyr."

"And where is that?" I ask, kicking a pebble with my boot in an attempt to distract myself from the cold.

"Below Cyrodiil and next to my people's homeland of Valenwood," answers Faendal.

"But what's it called?"

"Elsweyr."

I stop in my tracks and look sternly at Faendal, paying no mind to the strange looks the guard nearby sends me.

"You're bullshitting me," I state. "Elsewhere? Who the fuck-"

"What is bullshitting?" Faendal asks so innocently that I have to drop my rant right then and there.

"It doesn't matter," I sigh before blindly marching forward on the bridge. I stop only seconds later as the massive stone wall of a city greets my eyes.

"Jesus," I curse, taking in the dark, snow covered stones that stand before me. Whiterun had been impressive but Windhelm... Fuck. I've never seen such an intimidating thing in my life. It's as if Gunny had been turned into a fucking wall... okay, so a step lower than that. After all, this isn't the gates of hell. It's simply the gates of Windhelm.

A hand falls on my shoulder and I find Faendal looking up at the city wall with just as much awe as I am.

"Come on," he says, before leading the way inside through massive doors ahead.

I grace myself with one last glance back at the bridge and immediately kick myself for not noticing just how magnificent it is as well. Whiterun reminds my of Lord of the Rings but Windhelm is its own thing entirely.

There's no grass inside Windhelm. Everything is either white as snow or any shade of dark, the majority of the time being black or a dark rust color. The place has a strange sense of beauty to it, however, one that I can't help but admire even though that beauty also seems to unnerve me.

"The Palace of Kings is on the other side of Windhelm," points out Faendal. He looks up in the sky and adds, "It's only noon now, so if we hurry we -"

"You come here where you're not wanted," spits a voice with so much venom I don't know how I could have ignored it, "you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks."

To my right are two men leering over a woman with dark hair flowing limply down as if she has had far too long of a day to be harassed.

"Sarvis..." warns Faendal but it's a little too late. The rashness is taking over again as I'm already heading towards the cluster.

"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight," sighs the woman who upon getting a closer look at I can see has gray skin. So she's a dark elf, if what Ralof told me about races here was right (he did forget Khajiit after all and I don't know how one forgets cat-people).

"Hey," says one of the men leering over the woman. This one is balding fast. "Maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The dark elf woman pinches the bridge of her knows with clear distaste.

"Imperial spies?" she repeats before looking at the two men as if they're idiots. "You can't be serious?"

But the second man steps into her space and grabs her arm roughly. The elf immediately backs down.

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy," he whispers loudly with an evil smirk. "We got ways of finding out what you really are."

Half a second later the guy finds himself on his ass confused as hell.

"It's pretty obvious to the rest of us what you are," I muse before spitting at his feet. "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to treat a woman or was she too busy being ashamed of your ugly ass face to bother?"

Honestly, it's a bit difficult thinking up an insult that I'm sure people here will understand but by the look of complete disbelief and quickly growing fury on the fallen man's face he understood what I said.

"You Imperial swine," he hisses as his buddy helps him to his feet. Apparently both men are a bit drunk as it seems to take longer than it should. "You've got no right -"

"You might want to take your friend home before he says something he might regret," I say to the bald fellow, purposely ignoring the ranting other. "I'm not one for fighting fair when a woman's honor is on the line."

"That piece of filth-"

"Oh, that's two warnings," I say with a mock sigh as adrenaline starts to run through me. This is about to be fun.

"Sarvis," hisses Faendal, pleadingly but I ignore him.

"You know I usually only give out one warning," I say with a growing smile. "But I'm feeling pretty generous today."

"Don't think I can take you?" huffs the man, looking twice as drunk as I thought he was. "One hundred septims says I can punch you back where you come from."

I snort before I can stop myself.

"Oh that I highly doubt, pal," I chuckle. "Paris Island is a long ways away from this medieval hellhole... But you can try."

Faendal is sending me a look as we approach the supposed Palace of Kings a hundred coins richer. It looks more like an impressive dungeon to me. I raise an eyebrow at him but the elf only shakes his head.

"What?" I ask but Faendal only shakes his head again.

"You're not from here, friend," states Faendal.

"Yeah, we've kind of already established that," I say sarcastically but once more Faendal shakes his head.

Ignoring him, I push open the massive doors only to find myself biting back a whistle. These medieval palaces are getting ridiculously impressive. The dark stone illuminates in the horned chandeliers' light looking imposing when countered by the long blue carpets on either side of the loaded feast table. At the far end of the grand hall was a massive throne lifted up on a platform of stone and draped in a blue banner. A near black, metal shield hangs above the throne with two great swords behind it, an intimidating bear carved into the shield.

Okay, so I'm a bit impressed, sue me.

"Things hinge on Whiterun."

I look up to see a familiar sight of the man Ralof called Jarl Ulfric lounging lazily in the throne. I had noticed him earlier, but as his words echoed in the grand hall, I put my focus completely on him and the bear of a man standing next to him.

"If we can take the city without bloodshed all the better," Ulfric continues, before frowning. "But if not..."

"The people are behind you," points out the man at Ulfric's side. He's wearing a bearskin over his shoulders looking every bit a barbarian. His voice is grainy and scratchy, in a surreal similarity to Gunny's and I can half imagine Gunny looking just as grizzly with a beard as the man in front of me.

"Many I fear still need convincing," argued Ulfric with a thoughtful tone.

"Then let them die with their false kings," growled the man.

Yep, definitely made from the same mold as Gunny.

Ulfric smiles a soft smile that's barely visible at the man's words. However, his mirth is more noticeable as he speaks saying, "We've been soldiers for a long time. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts."

The Gunny doppelgänger snorted before saying, "What's left of Skyrim to wager?"

"They have families to think of," supplies Ulfric.

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."

This time, Ulfric allows his smile to grace his lips.

"Well put, friend," he says with an amused tone. "Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"

Galmar, if anything, looks more like Gunny by the way he straightens himself like a Marine being asked why he fights for his country.

"I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that," scoffs Galmar and Ulfric isn't the only one that believes every word he says.

Ulfric doesn't stop his soft smile but asks, "Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?"

"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men," clarifies Galmar. "Are we not one in this?"

At that Ulfric's smile disappears entirely. He looks solemnly downwards as he speaks softly, "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, who's names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces."

By this point, Ulfric's voice has risen several levels. I am frozen in place by the strength of his voice and words as if they were weapons of their own. I'm not alone either. Faendal is staring up at Ulfric with a look of complete adoration, as are the Stormcloak guards near us. Servants of the palace have ceased in their work to watch him as he continues with his impromptu speech.

"I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight..." Ulfric's eyes finally look up. Unexpectedly they lock with my own, "because I must..."

I'm not sure what to say as Ulfric's icy eyes flicker with recognition at the sight of me before returning to Galmar as he speaks, seemingly unaware of mine and Faendal's presence.

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric," he growls as my feet finally find themselves and begin moving forward. "And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

I reach the end of the feast table when Ulfric raises his hand in a halting motion. As he speaks, Galmar finally sniffs in my direction, looking at me with a sharp reading look that betrayed no emotion.

"I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn," says Ulfric, his gaze once more returning to myself and Faendal.

"Aye," growls Galmar, his sharp eyes still scrupulously examining me and Faendal. "But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

With that, Galmar gives Ulfric one last look before Ulfric gives him an approving nod and he heading off to the left. He disappears into a side room and I then finish approaching Ulfric. Ulfric eyes me with a small smirk playing on his lips. It's not quite a smile but it's reassuring.

"Only the foolish or the courageous approach the Jarl without summons," he says, but his words hold little malice. " _Dreh fin lok dreh hi pruzah, Zeymah_?"

"No, it's cold as fuck," I answer. For some reason, Faendal's eyes widen and Ulfric laughs.

"I thought it was you," he says, once again allowing himself to smile. "You were with us at Helgen. Few made it out alive."

"I helped Ralof escape," I say, noting how Ulfric seems to sit up more at the mentioning of my Viking looking friend. "He said he'd vouch for me."

"Ralof's alive?" repeats Ulfric, sounding more than pleased. "I pray to the Nine Divine that's true. No doubt he's staying with his sister for now. How are his injuries?"

"He's as healthy as a horse," I answer, finding Ulfric's questioning on Ralof slightly amusing. Few leaders that I've met care this much about one of their foot soldiers. "I set out before him but no doubt he'll be here soon."

"Aye, no doubt," says Ulfric, looking pleased. "He's a fine soldier."

"He also sent me here," I add, trying not to get off topic. "Because he thought you could help answer some of my questions."

Ulfric leans back in his seat, suddenly looking thoughtful.

"Indeed," he says before eyeing Faendal. "And you, elf?"

"Faendal, Jarl Ulfric," says Faendal with a hasty bow. "My name is Faendal. I am from Riverwood as well."

"A friend of Ralof I presume?" asks Ulfric.

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric," nods Faendal. "I wish to follow under your banner... that is, that is if you'll have me, Jarl Ulfric."

"So you wish to fight for Skyrim's freedom?" inquires Ulfric. "Freedom from the Empire? From your brother elves?"

"No brother nor empire of mine would dishonor one of the Nine Divine," says Faendal passionately, leading to an approving nod from Ulfric.

"Be that as it may," says Ulfric, "I will not lie to you. Some of my men will not see the same way you do. A bias towards all elves has grown in the ranks by no fault other than the damn Thalmar."

"Then I'll have to prove myself in the ranks," says Faendal, undeterred.

Ulfric smiles at this before adding, "That I am sure will do, elf. If Ralof finds reason to hold faith with you then so do I. Speak to Galmar in the war room. He will discuss your enlisting."

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric," says Faendal, bowing lowly. Without malice, Ulfric shoos him away and Faendal hurries off to the left wing room Galmar had disappeared into minutes ago.

"And you?" asks Ulfric, regaining my attention. "Will you fight for us? For our God?"

"I," I start but stop to think about what I'm about to say first. Yeah, I know, it's a surprise for me too. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Here?" repeats Ulfric. "Here in Windhelm?"

"Windhelm, Skyrim, this Nirn," I ramble. "I'm not supposed to be here."

Ulfric shifts, examining me scrupulously. He doesn't seem to be understanding what I'm saying but he motions for me to continue.

"And where is it you're supposed to be at, then?"

"That's... classified," I answer lamely. "But on Earth, Eastern Europe to be more specific."

"And is that where you're from?" asks Ulfric. "This Eastern Your-rope?"

"Jesus, no," I say, shaking my head. "I'm from the U.S... America, the United States of America... Look the point is I'm an American not an Imperial, which is just a race of people I know nothing about save for the ramble of information Ralof told me about - a ramble, I should add, in which he forgot to mention the fact that this world has walking cat-people from a country with a bullshit name of Elsewhere - wherever the fuck that is - and-"

"American, calm yourself," chuckles Ulfric, stopping me mid-rant.

"Sarvis," I correct automatically.

Ulfric lifts a golden eyebrow, his amusement not yet off his face.

"My name," I explain. "It's Noah Sarvis, Staff Sergeant Noah Sarvis of the United States Marine Corps. I was serving in combat when I jumped on a grenade to save my platoon. I'm supposed to be dead, not in this medieval world with more elves and dragons than there are in a Tolkien novel."

There's a long pause in which Ulfric simply stares at me and I stare back at him. He's examining me and my words. I don't blame him either. If I were in his shoes I would have already called me crazy and driven me from the castle... err that is what medieval kings did to crazy people, right? I knew I should have paid attention in history class more often.

"Well then," says Ulfric, calmly, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Noah Sarvis of America, I assure you that you are in fact alive and in Skyrim. I cannot tell you as to how you arrived here as my men and I found you unconscious in the woods near Darkwater Crossing nor can I explain why you are here.

"However," says Ulfric as I look down dejectedly. "I can offer you a theory."

My head snaps up to look at Ulfric with about as much eagerness as a dog offered a treat. It's rather pitiful but right now I'll take anything I can get.

"Perhaps the gods have plans for you."

At first, I want to scuff at Ulfric despite how sure he sounds. I may be a bit more boastful than a God fearing man should be but I'm not cocky enough to think God would send me to another world only to fight in another fucking war. I mean, I'm good but I'm not that good.

But there's no denying that I am here. Might as well do something useful until I find a way home.

"Maybe," I sigh before shaking my head. "Look, Ulfric, bud."

Ulfric's lip twitches in amusement at my casual tone. Apparently being a Jarl is a big deal.

Oops.

"I want to go home," I say honestly. "I have a little girl waiting for me and I promised my father I'd return in one piece. But I get that that's a difficult task at the moment. So until I find a way home I might as well make my skills useful."

Ulfric sends me a pleased smile.

"Speak to Galmar," he says motioning to the room left of the throne once more. "He'll size you up and see where we can best use your talents."

"Sounds good," I nod and Ulfric has to fight another smile.

"I would also suggest you refrain from sharing your origin with anyone else," Ulfric adds. "It may draw more attention to you than necessary."

"That's... Probably a good idea," I add, leading to Ulfric to lose his battle against his smile.

"Talos watch over you, Noah Sarvis of America."

"Someone has to, Ulfric," I reply cheekily before adding an awkward motion between a bow and a head nod.

It's rather weird being sent away by what I suppose is royalty in Skyrim, but then again everything here has been weird. It doesn't get any less weird when I join Faendal and this Galmar in the war room.

"Hmm. Helgen eh?" growls Galmar eyeing me as if he were looking for something impressive.

I shoot Faendal a look as if to silently ask him whether he has been talking about me and by the sheepish look that crosses the elf's - still not used to that word - face I realize he had been.

"Ulfric told us quite the story," continues Galmar with his growling. "If you made it through all that, you're likely worth something to me. But first, tell me. Why's a foreigner want to fight for Skyrim?"

I glance over at Faendal once more before answering Galmar.

"So you only take Nords?"

"You mistake me," grunts Galmar. "I'm not saying no - just wondering about your intentions. We're not looking for sellswords. The Stormcloaks need dedicated men and women who're devoted to the cause and willing to die for it."

"That's why I'm here," says Faendal. "I want to join."

Galmar nods his head rather annoyed before sending me an impatient look.

"And you?" he asks.

"I nearly had my head permanently removed from my shoulders, by these Imperial assholes," I say with a shrug. "Not to mention you're fighting for your religious belief in this Warrior Jesus. I'd be a shittier Catholic than I already am if I did nothing to help stomp some ass."

"I thought you were from American," says Faendal suddenly.

"America, Faendal," I correct, fighting back a sigh.

At the same time, Galmar roars a laugh.

"Well, America," he growls through his laughter, "Can't fault anyone for that. As long as you hate the Empire as I do, that I can work with."

I bite my tongue from correcting the man. Maybe it's because he looks like Gunny or maybe it's because I actually am holding a grudge against the Roman looking assholes. It doesn't matter either way as Galmar seems to be pleased with it.

Though I'll admit, I'm questioning if now as he gives Faendal and I orders to kill an Ice Wraiths on some Serpentstone Island.

"Does every recruit have to do this?" Faendal asks thankfully saving me from looking like a puss.

"Only the ones I'm not sure of," growls Galmar eyeing Faendal as if he were a wild animal that could attack him at any moment. Talk about paranoia. "This will prove your abilities, but more importantly, it will prove your commitment."

"I guess we're off to kill an Ice Wraith," I say, motioning towards Faendal to follow me. "See you soon, gunny - err - Galmar. Come on Faendal."

I hear Galmar grunt something suspiciously like "We'll see about that," as I drag Faendal out of the room. Pretty soon the two of us are once more outside the Palace of Kings, leading me to immediately regret my haste. It's fucking cold outside!

"I've read up on Ice Wraiths," says Faendal cheerfully and I'm a little surprised. I didn't actually think he'd still be interested in joining the Stormcloaks after finding out he had to kill an Ice Wraith, whatever the hell that is.

The only creature I can think about that fits the name of Ice Wraith is the Dementor looking thing from the Lord of the Rings. Actually, now that I think about it, a Dementor sounds pretty accurate too, more so even.

"This thing better not try sucking out my soul," I mutter and Faendal laughs.

"You say the strangest things, Sarvis," he chuckles.

I give him a grimace of a smile.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

So I'm having a bit of fun with making connections between Catholicism and the religion in the Elder Scrolls series if you can't tell. The similarities are too obvious not to point out especially when they help Sarvis accept his future role in this tale. Nonetheless, if this does bother anyone that is not my intention.  
Also, Sarvis has no idea Ulfric spoke Dovah to him. This will be addressed later.

Translations:  
Fin vod ahrk fin bo los gein, Dovahkiin - The past and the coming are one, Dragonborn.  
Dreh fin lok dreh hi pruzah, Zeymah? - does the weather do you well, brother?

And the dream was of Talos, Martin (dragon), and Akotosh standing as Prophet, Priest, King (God) respectfully. My Catholicism reference for the chapter.


End file.
